I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck
by eStranglo
Summary: John Watson was having a good day. He got off work early. There was a good game on telly. He was going to do nothing and relax! Then he got a text from Sherlock Holmes and everything changed. Rated T for drug use. Read and Review! :) (Now Complete!)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everybody!**

**This is just something that started on Omegle and I decided to bring it to life, err, fanfiction! This story will be co-written by me and Sherlockskisses (On Tumblr), and we hope that you like it. Do review and let us know!**

**And yes, the title is inspired from Winnie the Pooh quote. I just love that bear! :p**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock and it's characters belong to ACD, BBC, Moffat and Gatiss. I am not any of them, sadly.**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 1**

**x**

_It is one of those days,_ John Watson thought to himself as he placed his feet up on the coffee table.

Lazy day. At least that is what his mother used to call it when he was little. A day when the peace and the quiet just felt right, when you just don't want to do anything, when you are extremely content with everything.

John never experienced these days much. He never understood why his mother liked these days. He preferred to have his days filled with adventure and fun.

But today, the calm felt good.

He had gotten off work early, he was home alone and there was an interesting football match on the telly that he could watch without any distractions because, again, Mary wasn't home. Not that he disliked his wife's company. Far from it. But she was in the '_complaining about everything_' phase of her pregnancy and John found that really annoying.

Not today, though. Today, everything was good.

_Sherlock would hate today,_ a voice in his head said and he could not help but agree. Any day that did not have a mysterious kidnapping or a cleverly stolen artifact or a gruesome murder would be a 'hateful' day in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and John's best friend.

John hadn't seen Sherlock in almost two weeks. He had been a bit busy with Mary and his job. Plus, Sherlock had complained about the lack of interesting cases and mentioned some long experiment that involved human intestines… John had decided to stay away until that ended.

_Two weeks is long enough_, John decided as he watched the players in the match dribble the ball effortlessly. Maybe he would drop by Baker Street after the match ended and some of the laziness left him.

His phone beeped and he picked it up. It was a text message from Sherlock.

_Think of the devil_, he grinned inwardly. All his amusement, however, flew out of the window the second he read the text.

_Come to Baker Street. Relapsing. SH_

John jumped to his feet, picking up his keys and putting on his shoes and jacket as he fired off a reply.

_I'm on my way. But what is going on?_

His phone beeped once again.

_I'm sorry, John. I don't know...I couldn't help myself. SH_

John shook his head, bewildered, as he ran out of his house. This was the last thing he had expected. Sherlock, drugs, again… _what_?! He quickly typed a reply:

_Sherlock, why didn't you call me when you had the urge?_

He paused, his finger hovering over the "send" option. No, this was a discussion he could have face to face. He erased the message and sent another, more important, question.

_Are there more drugs at the flat?_

The reply came after a long (at least in John's opinion) minute.

_Maybe. SH_

Without wasting time, John dialled Mycroft's number and waited as the dial tone echoed in the car. Bless Mary for getting the new technology thing installed that enabled them to use their phone while driving. He was wondering what it was called when Sherlock's brother answered the phone.

"Make this quick, Doctor Watson," was his greeting, "I'm heading into an important meeting as we speak."

Good. John wasn't in the mood for small talk, either. "It's Sherlock. He's using again. Did you know that?"

Mycroft was silent for a second. "I was not aware of that."

"Well, I'm on my way to Baker Street right now. You should come too."

"Meeting, Doctor Watson," Mycroft reminded him.

"Right. He said there might be more stuff at the flat."

An irritated sigh, "Of course there might be. I'll ask the members of his fan-club to search his flat once again."

"No. He came clean to me which means that he wants to be helped," John said. "We should talk to him."

"_You_ should, if you think that will help," Mycroft replied.

"It will."

"Very well," Mycroft voice was blank, but John had the feeling that the man didn't think talking to Sherlock would work. "I will join you when I'm free."

And the line went dead. John dialed another number, this time Sherlock's. He needed to know how, why and _what_ was going on...

"So the traffic is terrible but I'm coming," John said when Sherlock answered the phone, "And Mycroft will be there too once he is free."

"You told him?"

"Of course I did. He did not sound happy and I don't blame him."

"John!" Sherlock's voice sounded mildly irritated, "He's not supposed to know!"

"Yeah, well, you're not supposed to be getting high." John snapped back.

"I'm not now..." An uncertain pause, "I was, but I texted you after. It's not like I kept it from you like last time."

"The last time was supposed to be the _last_ time, Sherlock. You promised. Why would you want to go back to that?"

"I didn't. I did. But I don't. I don't know... You don't know what it's like, John."

_This was bad_.

Sherlock never stuttered and he sure as hell never sounded so helpless, except when he was at the rooftop at Bart's. But that had been an act, a plan to fake his death, as John had found out two years later. This… this didn't make sense.

"You're Sherlock Bloody Holmes. If anyone can control the addiction, it's you."

Sherlock replied in a small voice. "That's it, though. I can do everything except this."

"You should have come to me, Sherlock," John said in a soft voice, "Day or night, doesn't matter. I would have helped you."

"I know that. But when I'm in that mindset I don't think, all I can think about is getting high."

John let out a breath. He appreciated Sherlock's honesty but that didn't make it any better. John wanted to help him, but he couldn't keep an eye on him 24/7.

"You need a new flatmate who can keep an eye on you." John mused, almost forgetting that Sherlock could hear him.

"I do not need a new flatmate!" Sherlock spat, his disgust at the idea clear in his voice.

"Then you need to control your drug habit!"

"I do not have a drug habit!"

John rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. Sherlock was a genius. He would definitely see how stupid his statement was.

Sure enough, the consulting detective spoke up a second later sheepishly. "Okay, maybe I do… But I do not need a flatmate."

John could continue this argument but it was pointless. He knew Sherlock would never agree to having a new flatmate. And even if he did, there was no one who would be Sherlock's flatmate. People didn't understand Sherlock. No one would stick around.

"Maybe you should get some professional help," John suggested slowly, "Go to rehab or something."

"No," the reply was instant, "That's where Mycroft sent me a few years ago. Didn't work, did it?"

"But –"

"I'm not going back there. They don't help, they're idiots."

John sighed. "Look, Sherlock. You need help. You're going to be my daughter's godfather, you cannot be a junkie!"

There was a shocked pause. "_I'm_ going to be her godfather?"

"Of course you are." John replied. There were no second thoughts about it. "You get to spoil our daughter and we get to blame you for everything she does wrong!"

Sherlock chuckled.

"Besides, you vowed to be there for Mary and me and the baby," John went on, feeling that he was on the right track, "How will you do that when you have over dosed on cocaine?"

"I know I vowed to be there for you lot. I won't overdose. I'll keep it in check or something… I don't know. What am I going to do?"

"Stop using," John replied calmly.

"How?"

And just then, an idea hit John. Yes, that would work. It definitely would. "Move in with Mary and me for a few weeks." He said, "Mary won't mind. We'll help you."

"I can do it on my own." Sherlock spoke up after a moment's pause, "Besides, it's not like you want a junkie in the house with your pregnant wife, is it?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure. Besides, Mary adores you. We'd love to have you and help you."

Sherlock was silent for a few, long moments. "Fine… I'll stay with you two," he agreed uncertainly, "But only until I get off this. Or until your daughter is born."

John nodded, even though Sherlock could not see it. "Deal. I'm almost at Baker Street. Why don't you pack up some stuff?"

"Alright. And warning before you come into Baker Street, I trashed it earlier to stop myself from getting any drugs. And as well as that there are a few drugs lying around so I'd watch your step."

"Mrs. Hudson is going to be mad."

"Yep!"

John chuckled and hung up the phone, trying to push down his concern with the amusement and optimism. _It's all going to be fine…_

**xx**

Sherlock was standing in his room, packing his things into his suitcase as he listened for John nervously. Why did he agree to this stupid idea? Well, he knew why. It just –

He shut his suitcase quickly when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later, he heard John call out his name from the living room. "In here," he called back, picking up his violin case and placing it on his bed next to the suitcase.

John leaned against the door to Sherlock's bedroom, his eyes filled with concern. "Hey. You all packed?"

"I'm thinking of testing a hypothesis on tongues. It involves keeping them in a -"

"No human body parts," John cut in.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "At least let me take some cigarettes, they help me take my mind off other things."

"Mary is pregnant. No cigarettes." John said firmly as he watched Sherlock pick up an object from his bedside table, which he recognized as the skull. "And you're not bringing _that_ either."

Sherlock turned towards John, his eyes moving between his best friend and his skull. "But the skull, John!" He whined like a five year old asking for more candy.

The doctor shook his head. "Mrs. Hudson is right, it's against health and safety."

Sherlock looked down at the skull in his hands, a small pout on his face. He looked like a kicked puppy. Maybe John was being too hard on him… "You can bring the skull, I guess," he said grudgingly, "Only if you keep it in your room."

A small smile lit Sherlock's face and he quickly tossed the skull into his suitcase, barely opening it, and zipped it. "I am packed now."

John looked at his violin case and the suitcase with narrowed eyes. "Anything in that suitcase that shouldn't be there?"

He looked down at it anxiously and then back at John. "No."

"Uh huh."

"Really."

John stared at him intensely for a moment. "Okay," he nodded, satisfied with what he saw, and walked back towards the kitchen. "Oh, I called Mycroft, by the way. Told him you'd be staying at my place for a few days. He said 'very well' and hung up."

"That sounds like him." Sherlock chuckled lightly, picking up his things following his best friend out.

**xx**

After a quick goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, the boys got into John's car – John in the driving seat and Sherlock in the passenger seat.

"Mary will be home tomorrow. She's staying over at Janine's," John said as he started driving, "Remember her, Sherlock, your fake fiancée?"

"Yes." The consulting detective shrugged, staring out of the window, "She can't still be annoyed about that. She got me back already."

"Well, you did deserve it, playing with her feelings like that... But I don't think Janine's angry anymore."

"Good." Sherlock smiled slightly, "So, why's Mary staying at hers then?"

"She said something about '_girl time_'. She may have befriended Janine to get to Magnussen like you, but they really are friends."

"Hmm," Sherlock tilted his head, then looked away from the window because they just passed one of his drug stops. "Do, uh, do you mind if we stop here?"

John slowed the car, but didn't stop it as he raised an eyebrow at Sherlock and then at the pharmacy outside. "Why?"

"No reason. Just need to stop here." He couldn't really think of a good enough answer right now, as all he could think of was the drugs.

John looked like he could read his mind. "If you're thinking about drugs –"

"I'm not!" Sherlock cut in. "I just need to get out of the car."

Pursing his lips tightly, John parked the car and turned to face Sherlock. "I'll come with you."

Sherlock's head snapped to him in surprise. "What? No you won't."

"Why not?"

Sherlock took a breath and opened the door. "Because."

John frowned and then quickly got out of the car. "I'm not letting you go into a drug store alone."

Sherlock, who had stepped out of the car, looked at John. "John, please... It's not even the store I want to go into, it's the alleyway behind it. I'll be in there for two seconds, please."

"Even worse!" John said exasperatedly as he moved to stand before the detective, "Come on, Sherlock. If you want me to help you, you have to talk to me. What's wrong?"

"_Nothing_ is wrong!" He looked down at him. "I need these, John, I can't not have them!"

John grabbed Sherlock's arm lightly and nodded towards his car. "Alright. Back into the car."

"No, no." Sherlock shook his head, looking back at the alleyway then at the car then at John. "Please, I'm your best friend, I have to have them."

"Calm down, okay?" He led him back towards the car, "You have to come to my place first. Get settled, then we'll discuss this problem."

"I don't have a problem!" Sherlock almost yelled, but still followed him to the car, still subconsciously wanting to be helped.

"Yes, I know, mate," John opened the door of the car. "Get in."

Sherlock looked down at the open door for a moment, not wanting to get in but wanting to at the same time. He just looked at John hopelessly. The doctor seemed calm, but firm. He would not let Sherlock go to that alley, no matter what. Accepting defeat, Sherlock got in and John shut the door after him.

Once they were on the move again, John glanced at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. The consulting detective was staring straight ahead, his hands tightly clasped together in his lap. "Sherlock?"

He didn't respond.

John didn't expect him to respond, so he went on. "I know this is hard, but you are going to have to show some restraint."

Sherlock put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. "John. Please." He didn't really know what he was asking for, but he needed to be distracted by talking.

"Alright, let's just forget about this, okay?" John suggested, "Tell me about any clients you had over the last few days."

"Clients?" Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, head still buried in his hands, "The last few days I've been high."

John resisted the urge to stop the car and strangle his best friend for being so stupid. "Okay..." _Deep breaths, John. He needs your help, not your anger_, he coached himself before continuing, "Um... deduce that woman for me."

"What woman?"

John nodded towards an old lady walking down the street. "That woman."

Sherlock took a glance at the woman, his focus clearly on his deduction. "Cancer patient. Only recently have her children bothered with her because they're hoping to get her estate once she dies but she thought one step ahead of them, it's all going to charity because she feels guilty about having an affair with her deceased husband who spent a lot of time with charity."

John nodded. "Okay, and what about that man over there?"

This went on the rest of the way until they reached John's house. John seemed content that Sherlock at least appeared to have forgotten about the drugs... at least for a while. He got out of the car, a small smile on his face. "We're home."

Sherlock got out of the car and looked up at the small house in the suburbs where the Watsons lived, knowing this will be his rehab until he gets his head straight.

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**There. How was it? Please let us know. Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)**

**Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everybody! Thank you for all the feedback, we're glad you like the story :)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Moffat and Gatiss.**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 2**

**x**

John lead Sherlock into the house, dropping his keys on the table and turning to his friend, who was awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room. "The bedroom is upstairs and it does have a disassembled baby crib. You'll have to live with that," He grinned, "And if you feel the need to assemble it for me, do not hesitate to do so!"

Sherlock nodded. "I might have to as a distraction anyway."

"Fair warning, though. The crib is evil. I spent 3 hours on it the other day and _nothing_!"

"Yeah, and I'm Sherlock Holmes." He rolled his eyes.

John chuckled, heading towards the kitchen and filled himself a glass of water. "You want something to eat?"

"No."

"Okay." John leaned against the kitchen door as he quenched his thirst; his eyes on Sherlock seemed to be rooted to his spot. "Why are you still standing in the middle of the room?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, still not moving.

John cleared his throat, shooting Sherlock a look that said 'you-are-a-genius-but-you-are-acting-like-an-idiot'. And Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again, setting his suitcase down on the coffee table and slowly unzipping it, not saying anything to John.

"Um, what are you doing?" John asked. Surely Sherlock was not going to create a mess in the living room. It worked in Baker Street, but here Mary liked her house clean.

"I'm unpacking." He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it probably was. He took out a few things, which included a book about bees, his laptop and a spare shirt.

"Yes. Yes. Shouldn't you unpack upstairs?"

Sherlock shrugged and zipped up his bag, heading towards the stairs, only to be stopped by John. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Give me that box of cigarettes you just sneaked into your pocket," John said, holding out his hand, "I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I'm not blind, either."

The detective paused for a second, frowning, then putting his hand into his pocket and taking out the cigarettes before handing them to him.

"That's like a good boy." John smiled triumphantly.

"I'm not a child, John." He snapped.

"Of course you are not." John headed back into the kitchen, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

**xx**

John headed up the stairs, scowling. _Two hours!_ It took him two bloody hours to make pasta – the pasta that the cooking book said would take 30 minutes to prepare.

_That's okay though,_ he told himself, _I'm a doctor and a soldier, not a chef!_

He was glad that Mary wasn't here. She would have teased him about his cooking skills for weeks. Though, if Mary was here, he wouldn't have been cooking in the first place…

Shaking his head lightly, he knocked on the door to Sherlock's bedroom before entering. And he froze.

The crib had been set up, a bit scrappily, but it's done. And Sherlock was sitting on the floor behind his bed, a small scrunched up bag of white powder in one hand. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Sherlock looked over at John, throwing the bag across the room as he got to his feet. "Nothing."

John stormed across the room and picked up the small bag, glaring at Sherlock, who had the decency to look ashamed. "You lied to me."

"I was weak..." Sherlock mumbled, "I still am."

"That is no excuse!" John ran a hand through his hair, "And since when do you so openly admit to being weak? I mean, I thought you thought you were bloody perfect."

"I am...I just – I told you, I can do everything except for this. With the drugs, I can't do it." He shook his head, eyeing the bag that John held.

John did not like the longing look Sherlock shot the drugs, and he pocketed the packet which was definitely going to join the cigarettes in the garbage bin. But Sherlock would have no problem retrieving them. Maybe incineration was the better option. "What else do you have?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Of course he had more, and John knew it too, but he wasn't going to tell him anyway. John's patience, on the other hand, was thinning at an alarmingly fast rate.

"Speak up, or so help me God, I will search you and this room myself!" The doctor threatened.

Sherlock gulped and then hesitantly pulled out another bag from his pocket. "A few more in the suitcase," He said quietly.

"Of for the love of -!" John shouted incredulously, grabbing the packet from his hand and then reaching for the suitcase, "This is just – I can't even – _Damn you_, Sherlock!"

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sat back against the bed, his expression a mixture of shame and an obvious desire for the drugs. "Sorry."

John knew that Sherlock meant it, that he really was sorry, but it was hard being nice and forgiving considering that he was holding quite a lot of illegal drugs in his hands. "Dinner is ready." He said finally, "I made pasta."

"I didn't want dinner."

"You're eating. Downstairs. _Now_!" John said firmly. God, he hated acting like Sherlock's parent, but sometimes the detective just asked for it.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, eyes boring into John's. He was probably measuring how angry and how impatient John was, or maybe he was thinking of a way out, or maybe he was planning on getting the drugs back. Who knew what Sherlock thinks of? A second later, Sherlock got up and walked out of the room.

**xx**

John quickly got rid of the drugs before entering the kitchen to find Sherlock sitting at the table, staring blankly at the wall. He could not help but glare at him, and when he served the dinner, he had to work very hard to keep his voice normal. "I may have boiled it a bit too much, and the sauce is a bit too thick but it should be fine."

"I don't care." Sherlock muttered, picking up a fork and taking a few bites of the pasta.

"Wine or water?"

"Water." He replied, taking another bite, "This is disgusting."

"I thought you didn't care," John snapped, placing the glass of water before him more roughly than necessary.

They ate in silence – a silence that hurt Sherlock like hell and a silence that John needed to control his anger. Once he felt he was calm enough, he glanced at his miserable best friend. "Mary called. Said hi."

"Oh, good. How is she?"

"She's fine. Very happy, actually. Apparently, Janine bakes the best cupcakes ever."

Sherlock forced a small smile. "Did you tell her about...?" He gestured to himself.

"Yes.

"What did she say?" Sherlock asked quietly, putting the fork down.

John looked at him for a second before shrugging lightly. "Nothing much. Agreed to my idea of bringing you here."

The detective stood up and carried his plate to the kitchen sink. He paused, took a deep breath, thinking everything that had just happened through, and then walking back to John. "We should talk about this."

John blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that. He had thought that he would have to beg and plead and be mad and order Sherlock around to get him to talk about the matter at hand. "Yes." He finally nodded. "Yes, we do."

Sherlock blinked a few times, opened his mouth and closed it, then looked down at John in a what-am-I-supposed-to-say manner.

_Of course Sherlock wouldn't know how to have a normal talk_, John thought. He would have to be the one to start it. "Sit down," he said, his voice not unkind, "And tell me how long you've been using?"

Sherlock did as he was told, sitting down and looking at John. "In my life or since the last relapse?" He asked quietly.

"Will you honestly tell me about your life as a junkie?" John asked, "Because whenever I've asked you before, you just shut down."

Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the floor. "What do you think?"

John sighed, vaguely realizing that he had been doing a lot today. "Alright, your relapse. Tell me about it."

Sherlock still didn't look up at John. He didn't want to talk about it but he needed to and he knew that. He thought how he would word his answer, as he didn't really know much why himself.

John patiently waited, and instead observed his friend closely. Sherlock's hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his hair was a mess, his eyes downcast and his figure slumped. He looked weak, and John did not like that one bit. He needed to know what was going on so he could help Sherlock.

Sherlock continued staring at the ground for a few more moments, deciding to tell John what he knew as the reason because of all this. He knew this answer would either annoy or anger his friend, but it was his sorry excuse for opening up, and he hated it. "I got bored."

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Anger bubbled inside him at the ridiculous reason his friend was giving him. "Bored? You got bored."

He nodded, looking up to John finally. "Bored."

John resisted the urge to punch Sherlock. Breaking his nose would do no good, no matter how much the stupid git deserved it. He tried to resist his fury too, but John was never very good at controlling his emotions. "That's it?!" he shouted incredulously, "That is your reason? 'You got bored.'"

"Yes, I got bored. I do that a lot if you hadn't noticed." He said, tilting his head slightly, completely aware of how much he had angered his friend, in his house after he had let him in and offered to help him.

"That is not your get-out-of-jail-free card, Sherlock!" John's voice was still loud and angry, "Not when it comes to this."

"I know. But it's true."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you get bored, Sherlock, you watch the telly, you call your friends, you conduct some damn experiment, you play your violin. You don't _shoot up_!"

"Other people do that." He said, his voice rising in volume. "I checked for clients, I played my violin, the boredom wouldn't subside."

"Then you call me!" John shouted back. "I've handled your tantrums of boredom in the past. I would have done that now too. Why didn't you just call me?"

"I did!" He shouted back. "Just...A few weeks afterwards."

John stands up, grabbing his dishes and moving towards the sink. He needed to keep his hands busy and as much as he hated washing dishes, this was the only think he could think of. "Why afterwards?"

"You don't know what it's like John, the urge was too strong, I didn't forget about you when it happened, I just didn't see it as a problem at the time, I saw them as a solution." Sherlock was much calmer now.

"Yes, you've already mentioned the _irresistible_ urge before. But you didn't do that when we were flatmates. You didn't even do that during the months when you were helping Mary and I plan the wedding. What happened in the last few days that you just _had_ _to_ get high?"

"Nothing happened... _Nothing_!" The genius pushed his hand through his curls. "Don't you think I've been trying to work this out as well?"

John, who had just finished washing the dishes, tossed the dish rag on the shelf and turned around to face the consulting detective. He wanted to be kind and understanding and patient, but there is only so much he could take. He wished Mary was here. She would have calmed both of them down and made this conversation fruitful. "We didn't meet for 2 weeks." he said, "You weren't using then."

"For the two weeks, I was, yes. That's why we didn't meet. I was too busy getting high." Sherlock shrugged slightly. "Well, the first few days were me trying to find a reason not to." He got up and started pacing, still trying to figure out why he did it, how much he was willing to tell, and how much he could get away with repeating.

"Uh huh," John leaned against the shelf, crossings his arms over his chest, his tone clear that he was waiting for more.

Sherlock paced silently for a few seconds before stopping at looking at John. He knew he had to cough up more information. "For the first few days I did everything I could. I knew I shouldn't go back to drugs again and I tried very hard not to. I called Lestrade to ask him about cases, I checked for clients on my blog, I played the violin, I did experiments, I smoked a lot, I refrained from calling you because you were busy with Mary and her pregnancy, but I also didn't realize how serious it was. That was a minor error on my part. I thought it would go away. It didn't. So I gave in."

"Simple as that," John snorted bitterly. He was not angry, well not _that_ angry anymore. He was just... disappointed, and he didn't know how to put that in words. But something on his face must have given that away for Sherlock looked at his feet.

"Sorry." The consulting detective said. It was too late for that, but he didn't know what else to say. "I really am."

John didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, and the silence between them was not at all comfortable. Then, he cleared his throat and said, "Get some sleep."

"I don't need any sleep." Sherlock protested immediately, then stopped, noticing the look on John's face. "I'll… be in my room. I'll try to sleep." He headed for the door.

"Good." John said, "And Sherlock? Don't you dare try to use your boredom or your loneliness as an excuse to kill yourself. You want company, I'm here."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John, a frown on his face. "But you're angry at me."

"Yes I am, but I'm still here for you."

"Okay." With that, Sherlock walked out of the room.

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**The next chapter will be up soon. In the meantime, reviews are greatly appreciated! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, my wonderful readers! Thank you for your feedback to the story so far. Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it! :)**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 3**

**x**

Sherlock woke up the next morning, having actually slept that night which was a surprise given the circumstances. After a quick shower, he walked down the stairs, following the sounds that were coming from the kitchen. John was setting the kitchen table, his attention on his wife, who was making omelettes.

"... And so we decided that shopping was a bad idea." Mary was saying.

Sherlock remained silent for a moment, unnoticed, then decided to announce himself. "Mary," he spoke up, his voice more confused than he actually was.

Both John and Mary turned to look at Sherlock, the latter smiling warmly at him. "Sherlock, you're up." She said, "Breakfast?"

"Morning," Sherlock nodded, smiling slightly at Mary, walking over and sitting down on a chair. "So you decided not to go shopping then?"

"No. No, we _did_ go shopping, Janine and I." Mary said, bringing over the food to the table, before sitting down, "But you see, none of the stylish things fit me anymore. So I got all grumpy and Janine suggested that we leave."

John silently poured them juice, inwardly glad that Mary was here to carry on the conversation, and also noticing with glee that Sherlock looked well-rested. That was good.

Sherlock smiled again, pretending to take in her reason why, looking at her pregnant stomach and then down at his breakfast. "Yes, that would've been best." He said absent-mindedly.

Mary hesitated, sharing a glance with John before turning back to Sherlock. "And how're you?"

He blinked a few times. "Better. Thank you."

"So," John cleared his throat, taking a bite of his food, "Any plans today?"

Mary nodded as she took a bite. "Might go for a walk later, but other than that I need to rest."

"Yeah, you should rest," John smiled fondly at her before leaning forward and placing a quick kiss on her lips.

Sherlock watched them silently, taking a sip of juice and wondering how long he would be here for. John sat back in his chair, looking at Sherlock thoughtfully. The detective noticed that and raised an eyebrow in question.

"I was expecting a rude comment from you, Sherlock, insulting sentiment and domesticity and... me." John explained.

"I was tuning it all out." He rolled his eyes, "But don't tempt me."

"Yes, John, really don't," Mary said, turning to the detective, "And you Sherlock. Do you have any case or plans for today?"

"Well, I was going to test my hypothesis on tongues but somebody said I wasn't aloud human body parts..."

"I stand by that," John said. "It would have started with tongues in the fridge and ended up with rat tails in my sock drawers!"

"It was for science, John."

"How will a rat tail lying there with my clean socks help science?" John asked incredulously.

"The effect that a low oxygenated area has on the process of decomposition." Sherlock said, as if it were obvious.

John stared blankly at him for a second before shaking his head. "Sorry I asked."

Mary giggled, taking a sip of her juice. "You know, you two are like an old married couple."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "That will be you two once the baby comes, you know?"

"Live with us for a few more days and you'll see that that is already us." John joked.

They ate in silence for a few seconds before Mary turned to John. "Oh, I met Kate outside." she said.

"You did?" John asked. "How is she?"

"Well." Mary replied. "And Isaac's better too. At least, that's what Kate said."

"He's still in rehab?" John asked.

Mary nodded.

"Good for him."

Sherlock had tuned them out again, careful not to say anything about his hatred for domestication, but the word 'rehab' reached his ears and he lifted his head up slightly.

"I know." Mary shook her head. "It's sad, really. Such a bright boy and he was killing himself with that habit of his."

"Yes, well. He'll be okay." John said, glancing at Sherlock, aware of the fact that his best friend was listening intently, "Once he kicks away this habit, everything will be okay."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly then got up. "I'll be in my temporary bedroom."

"Sherlock..." Mary began and then paused, not sure what to say. And when Sherlock paused in the doorway, waiting for her to finish her sentence, she shot him a small but warm smile. "Do let me know if you need anything."

Sherlock nodded once and left. Mary turned back to her husband, almost glaring at him. "I'm pregnant. I'm allowed to have stupid moments. I ate a full box of Oreos the other day and spent the entire afternoon throwing up!" She said matter-of-factly, "Why didn't you stop me when I started talking about drugs and rehab in front of him?"

John put his fork down. "Alright so that was a bit mean, but I am pissed at him."

"I know that and _he_ knows that, but he is sorry."

He sighed. "I found drugs in his room last night."

"What?" Mary asked, her voice filled with slight annoyance but otherwise calm. She had almost expected this.

"I took them and got rid of them but..." John trailed off, eyeing her. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not. I mean, he's Sherlock, he's not going to give up easily."

"I know that. Doesn't mean I'm not disappointed," John stood up with a sigh and carried his, Mary's and Sherlock's dishes to the sink. "He is Sherlock Holmes. He's supposed to know better."

Mary nodded. "And he did, that's why he called you in the first place. Besides, we knew when we took him in that it wasn't going to be easy."

John pondered her words in silence for a few moments before turning to her with a smile on his face. "You're right. Of course you're right."

"I do try." Mary shrugged, eliciting a laugh from him. A few seconds of silence and then Mary looked at her husband seriously. "Are you okay about all of this?"

"I'm worried about him, but I want to help him and keeping him here is the best way to do so." John paused, walking over to stand before her, caressing her cheek with his fingers, "I know Sherlock is a handful and he might drive us insane. And you're pregnant and you need your rest... Thank you for agreeing to this."

"Of course I've agreed to it, he's your best friend." She nodded, looking at him. "And anyway, it's good to have practice before we have a real baby running around the house."

John chuckled and then leaned down to place a quick kiss on her lips. "I've to go to work."

"All right." Mary smiled, looking at the clock. "Have a good day."

"You too," John headed out of the kitchen, "And call me if you need me!"

**xx**

It was mid-afternoon and Mary Watson was bored. She had taken a long nap, she had taken a long bath and she had just eaten a sandwich. There was nothing to do... Feeling her grumpiness coming back, she walked out of her room and paused, staring at the closed door of Sherlock's room. Quickly making up her mind, she walked over to the door and knocked. "Sherlock?"

After a few seconds, Sherlock opened the door enough for her to see his face. "Mary." He greeted warmly.

"You busy?" She asked, the ex-secret agent in her noting that he was blocking her view to the room.

He paused a second. "No... Not at all."

"Okay." She tilted her head to the side, "Aren't you going to let me in? Manners, Sherlock!"

He opened the door wide enough for her to come inside and walked in after her. "What is it you want exactly?"

"I can't come and talk to you?" She asked, looking around at the room, which looked like it had been hit by a tornado. The crib was pushed against the wall, the bed was unmade and Sherlock's stuff was everywhere.

"Yes." He nodded, fiddling with his hands impatiently.

"So," Mary began, sitting down on the edge of the bed, a hand on her belly, "What have you been up to?"

"Just playing the violin," He said, looking over at his closed violin case resting in the crib, "And deducing things, just deducing things."

"You're fibbing. Again."

"I am not lying. Why would I be lying?"

"You tell me."

"I am just deducing things."

Sherlock was fibbing and Mary knew it. She hummed, her eyes coming to rest on the violin case. "Play me a tune."

He looked over at the violin case then back at Mary. "The strings need tuning. Can't play you anything."

Mary nodded, eyes fixed on Sherlock. They stayed like that for a few, long moments and then Mary stood up slowly. "Alright. That's it," she said, starting towards the crib, "If you're not going to be honest, I'll just check that damn case myself."

He took a deep breath. "You don't need to open it... There's just a violin in there."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Mary reached out and unlocked the case.

"Mary." Sherlock moved towards her, not sure what to do, not that there was anything to be done anyway.

She opened the case, and there along with the violin and a bow were a few packets of white powder. She stared at the drugs and then at Sherlock, an eyebrow raised. At least he had the decency to look ashamed, though she wasn't sure if it was real or just an act.

"I wasn't...I was not using them." Sherlock mumbled.

"No, you were just keeping them hidden from John and me."

"No...Well, yes."

Mary understood why John was so frustrated with Sherlock. The man was sorry, maybe, but he was also unashamedly honest. And while that was something that should be appreciated, it was also something that was equally frustrating. "I thought John got rid of all the drugs he found in your room."

"He didn't check the skull or under the bed, or the actual violin itself." Sherlock said quietly. "I thought he would've known me better, to be honest."

"John Watson, what a stupid man!" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "He actually trusted you not to lie to him."

Sherlock lowered his eyes. "I wasn't going to go back to the drugs...I was just...keeping them."

"Are you planning on using them?"

"Maybe."

"You just said you weren't going to go back to drugs."

"I've changed my mind since then." Sherlock shrugged slightly.

"I appreciate your honesty, Sherlock," Mary pulled out her mobile phone. "Let's see if John does too."

A flash of panic flittered across his face. "Mary, don't, you don't have to phone him."

"He needs to know this. And wasn't 'honesty' the whole point of you telling him about your relapse in the first place?"

"He really doesn't. He'll be worrying all day. And I'm almost regretting telling him about the relapse in the first place." He said quietly, not showing the shame he felt for what he just said.

"He's already worried, don't you see?!" Mary cried, then took a deep breath and continued in a gentler tone, "You should have made up your mind about this habit before roping John in, because now, he will do everything he can to get you off these."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "I know, but it's too late now, isn't it?" He said. "I've roped both of you in and I can't go back to them."

"I'm glad we are clear about that," Mary smiled sweetly, pocketing the phone. "Now, I'm not John and I'm not nice, either. Sherlock Holmes, you are going to gather all of your drugs yourself and throw them out. And I will stand here and observe."

He looked at his drugs, took a deep breath and looked at Mary, frowning, but moaning about it would do no good, he still wanted them. "Fine."

Mary watched with satisfaction as Sherlock gathered all the drugs - which were quite a lot, to her surprise - in a paper bag. She even looked around in hidden places, making sure that there was nothing left. She would not make the mistake her husband made.

And then, she followed Sherlock down the stairs, out of the house and to the garbage bins, where he faltered. "Go on," she encouraged him, placing a hand on his back for support.

He paused a moment, then thought about all that John and Mary had told him, and feebly dunking them all in the bin, making an effort not to look at them one by one or keep one, no, they were all in. He looked back at Mary, not saying anything. And she wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist, pulling him with her as they start walking away from the bins.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, "Tea back at home, or a nice walk?"

Sherlock sighed. "Tea back home."

"You're making it, though," Mary went on as they walked back towards the house, pretending as if nothing had happened at all, "I hope that you've learned how to boil water by now..."

* * *

**The next chapter will be up soon. In the meantime, reviews are greatly appreciated. Have a good day! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, everybody! Thank you for your reviews and feedback. Here's the next chapter - a pretty long one and a light one. So no need to grab your tissue boxes. Sit back, read and enjoy! (And do let me know what you guys think about it!)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock and it's characters belong to ACD, BBC, Moffat and Gatiss. I am not any of them, sadly.**

* * *

**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 4**

**x**

Sherlock was playing his violin in his bedroom, thinking what he was going to do today, then stopped playing when he heard John knock and went to open the door. "Sherlock, stop with the noise and get ready," was John's greeting, "We're going baby shopping."

"Why?" The consulting detective asked.

"Because we needs things for the baby, or so Mary thinks."

"Do I have to come?" Sherlock whined.

"Yes. And then we'll go for a nice dinner." John said, watching the detective grumpily place his violin back in the case and the walked out of the room after picking up his mobile phone.

John followed him, a small smile on his face. Mary had told him about Sherlock's extended stash incident that had happened a few days ago and he had been pretty pissed – so pissed that he hadn't even talked to his best friend properly for two days. Then Mary had dragged him to the side and told him that the cold treatment was not what Sherlock needed at the moment. He knew she was right, he knew Sherlock was trying. He had been good for the last few days. But that didn't mean that his anger was gone. Punching him was out of the equation, so torturing him with baby shopping felt like the best revenge to John.

Sherlock, on the other hand, did not look forward to this at all. Firstly, he thought that the term 'baby shopping' itself was odd – They were not shopping for a baby, they were shopping for things _for_ the baby! But he also knew that he had pissed John off since the incident and the way his friend had treated him for the past few days helped him come to his senses enough to realise he messed up. At least it would be good to get out of the house and show John that he was trying… And John was now talking to him, so that was something.

**xx**

About 30 minutes later, they walked into _Mothercare - _a colorful, happy, jolly, crowded and obnoxiously irritating place, according to Sherlock.

Mary didn't think so. Grabbing John's arm, she squealed, "Ooh, look at all the baby things! Let's buy the entire place!"

"Sure" John said, "Let me just go and put one of my kidneys on sale."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the pair, trying to focus on something else. Not that it was possible. Even the floor tiles were baby-related! "Let's get this over and done with, what do we need?" He asked.

"We've just got the furniture for the nursery so far." Mary replied, "I was thinking of getting some clothing and nursery stuff today."

"Maybe we should split and shop," John suggested.

Without further notice, Sherlock headed down a random aisle. Mary and John shared a confused glance.

"Go see what he is up to. I'll buy some clothes," Mary kissed her husband's cheek and walked away.

John watched her walk over to the clothing section, eyeing pink jumpers, before turning and walking in the direction where Sherlock had disappeared. He finally spotted the detective, observing the rattle sets on the shelves. John walked over to him but stayed silent.

"This one," Sherlock stated, picking up yellow rattle with rings and tossing it in the trolley.

John wanted to ask why this one was special, but decided against it. As much as he loved torturing Sherlock, he himself was not a big fan of baby shopping either. He loved his unborn baby, he would be a good father but baby shopping... _no_! "Alright," he nodded, turning to the shelves of stuffed toys. "We need to get her one of those."

Sherlock picked up a pink teddy bear, examining it for a few moments and then putting it back down. Then picked up another, repeating his actions yet this time, putting it in the cart.

"Aren't you going to ask my opinion?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "You don't care either way."

"But I do!" John insisted. Just because he was not 'team baby shopping' did not mean that he didn't care at all. This was his baby after all. "I don't like teddy bears, never have. My daughter will have a bunny."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the bear out. "Okay. Which rabbit do you want?"

John looked at the toys and picked a light brown bunny with pinks ears. "This one's cute."

Sherlock glanced at the bunny. "It's a return. Surprised _Mothercare_ let them bring it back considering the obvious coffee stains on the label and the loose button. I don't want my god-daughter swallowing a button. Choose a different one."

John sighed, though he was inwardly pleased that Sherlock cared for his god-daughter. "Um, this one," John pointed towards a white bunny with long limbs and long ears.

Sherlock picked that bunny up, took a look at it. "No flameable fabric, no loose buttons, it's new. It's fine." He tossed it in the trolley.

"Great." John said, "We need mobiles for the crib. And a chair for the nursery."

"Chairs." Sherlock stormed away.

John picked up a crib mobile with little, colorful dragons before following Sherlock. He reached the furniture section to find Sherlock sitting in a rocking chair, rocking it. "What are you doing?" John asked, glancing at a few customers who were looking amused.

"I'm testing the chairs, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Like you're testing chairs," John replied dumbly.

"I _am_ testing chairs." Sherlock said, getting up and looking at the one he was just sitting in.

Much to John's relief, Mary walked over to them that moment, carrying a shopping basket full of clothes. She looked at John's trolley. "That's it?" she asked incredulously, "I bought half the clothing section, and the bedding for the crib – which they're keeping at the counter for me – and all you got is a _single_ rattle, a bunny and a crib mobile?"

"We're not finished yet," Sherlock said, moving onto yet another chair. He made a face and was about to comment on the piece of furniture when his phone rang. He pulled it out and stared at the ID. "Mycroft."

"You should take that," John told him, "Mary and I will get the chair."

He nodded to them and answered his phone as he walked away from the Watsons. "Brother."

"Brother-mine," Mycroft's voice was cold and controlled, as always, "Would you be kind and go sit on that pink rocking chair once again? I couldn't get a clear picture before."

Sherlock glared at the security camera in the corner. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check up on you. I would have done so sooner but the current situation in Syria demanded some attention..." He trailed off, "Never mind that."

"I'm doing fine, as you can probably see." Sherlock said, actually eager to get back to baby shopping. Even toys that sang those stupid nursery rhymes were better than Mycroft.

"Hmm, yes. Baby rattles and bliss." Mycroft mocked. "I did find out about the incident with substances in suitcase, violin case and that toxic skull you insist on keeping."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I wasn't going to use them..."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby brother" Mycroft said, "Doctor Watson still insists that you're getting better. I'm neither as foolish nor as optimistic as him, which is why I have reserved a room in one of the best rehabilitation facilities in the country for you."

"They don't help, Mycroft, they're idiots," Sherlock snapped. "And besides, John is not going to get it wrong and neither am _I_. I'm getting better without that bloody rehab!"

"Easy, brother. You don't want to create a scene and ruin the Watson shopping day." A pause, "For your sake, I do hope that Doctor Watson is right. Because I _will_ send you back to rehab if you slip up."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Fine."

"Oh, and Sherlock? Do expect a phone call from our concerned parents."

"Brilliant," Sherlock muttered and hung up the phone. He put his phone in his pocket, taking a moment to think through everything he was just told, and then went looking for the Watsons.

**xx**

The three of them were in the car. John was driving, Mary was nibbling on the candy she had bought from the mall earlier and Sherlock was staring at her oddly from the backseat. John noticed that and chuckled. "Attractive, isn't she?" he asked.

"She's lovely." Sherlock scrunched his nose sarcastically.

"Make fun all you want," Mary said, rolling her eyes, "But you two are not the ones carrying a baby who is constantly hungry!"

"And I'm quite glad about that." Sherlock stated.

"But babies are good!" Mary patted her belly fondly.

"Matter of opinion."

"You don't like children?" John asked, glancing at his best friend through the rear-view mirror.

"No. I like children." Sherlock shrugged. "Just not when they're still in the womb exactly."

"Fair enough," John said, parking the car outside an Italian restaurant, "We're here."

They got out of the car, Mary rushing to the entrance, clearly eager to eat some dinner. The candies weren't enough! John and Sherlock slowly followed her, the latter's expression of utter disgust at the prospect of having to have a proper, civilized meal in a boring restaurant. John noticed that.

"Behave," he whispered to Sherlock as they walked in the restaurant, "And be happy. I mean, there are loads of people here you can deduce. You won't be bored."

Sherlock nodded, looking around the restaurant and telling himself not yet. However, he faltered when he noticed Mary walking up to a table and hugging Janine. _Janine_. His ex-girlfriend-slash-fiancée Janine. One look at her, deductions jumped before Sherlock's eyes.

_Single.  
Living in the city.  
Fresh manicure.  
New job.  
Still didn't get rid of the bees at the cottage.  
Deadline.  
Took a long bath.  
New dress._

John looked at the table and then at his best friend, who had frozen for a second. "Uh, yeah, I should have mentioned earlier," He mumbled sheepishly, "Mary invited Janine to join us."

"Great." Sherlock parroted, then walked over to the table. "Hello, Janine."

Janine, who was dressed in an elegant black dress that reached up to her knees and had her hair coiffured, shook hands with John before turning to the detective, a cool smile on her face. "Sherlock Holmes. It's been a while."

"Indeed it has." Sherlock said slowly as he took a seat to her right, "Mary says you make the very best cupcakes."

"It is one of my many talents." Her voice was sweet, "Shame, you won't get to see _any_ of them."

"Oh, and why not?"

"Well, I would have showed you if you were still my boyfriend... or a friend. But you're neither, so." Janine tilted her head to the side, "While we're on the topic, broken more hearts lately, Sherl?"

"Not that I know of. What about you? Bought any more cottages selling scandals to the press?" He shot back.

Janine opens her mouth to reply but John interrupts. "Alright, kids." he said uncomfortably, "Be nice to each other."

Sherlock remained silent and looked around at the people in the restaurant while Mary looked down at a menu. The waiter came over to take their orders. John and Mary placed their orders nicely and then –

"Um, I'll have the Penne Alfredo with Smoked Trout and a glass of your finest red wine," Janine said, then shook her head, "You know what? Make that the bottle of your finest, _most expensive_ wine." She placed a hand on Sherlock's forearm, a smile on her face. "My lovely _boyfriend_ insists on treating us tonight."

John sighed. Janine and Sherlock in the same room... bad idea. What was Mary thinking?

Sherlock widened his eyes and stared at Janine for a moment, challenged. "Indeed the most expensive wine," He smiled at the waiter, "But if you want the affair with your colleague to stay a secret, I suggest knocking the price down to half price."

The poor waiter looked horrified. "I-I'm sorry, s-sir," he stuttered, "But w-we c-cannot knock the prices down."

Sherlock glared at him. "Alright. How about –"

"I'll pay for the bloody wine," John interrupted once again, looking kindly at the waiter, "And he'll have a Grilled Chicken and Pasta Salad. Now go and just. Don't poison our food. Thanks."

Once the waiter had walked away, Janine scoffed. "John, you're no fun at all!"

"That's the one thing I agree with coming from her." Sherlock nodded.

Mary laughed a little to herself, biting her lip and looking at Janine. "Be nice."

"I'm being perfectly nice," Janine said, glancing at Sherlock from the corner of her eyes, "And I totally enjoyed how Sherl started showing off his talents the second he felt challenged."

Mary frowned. "It's dinner. No one's challenging anyone."

"Exactly." John nodded in agreement. A pause, "And I'm fun."

"I'm sure you are _buckets_ of fun, John," Janine stated, "But to prove it just in case, you should come by my cottage and help me get rid of those damn bees. I've been trying for months but they just won't go away."

"Bees?" John forced a smile. "Not exactly my area. You should ask Sherlock _nicely_. He knows a lot about them, don't you Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked over at John then back at Janine. "Maybe I do." He shrugged. "Or you could ask the man in the shirt with blue and white stripes in the corner. He dabbled in beekeeping."

"Show off," Janine muttered. "Anyways, I don't need _your_ help, Sherl. I'll get rid of those bugging insects by myself, thank you very much."

"No, you won't." Sherlock corrected, then noticed the warning look Mary was shooting him. He turned back to Janine. "I meant good luck."

"Aww, look at you, being an obedient puppy," Janine cooed.

"Better than being a stray cat, don't you think?"

For the first time, Janine looked hurt, though she quickly covered that up with a shrug. Incredulous, exasperated and irritated, John swiftly kicked Sherlock under the table.

Sherlock flinched slightly, then got the message and changed the conversation. "So, I haven't been here before, what's the food like?"

"Good," Mary said, glad that the conversation was steering towards normal. "John and I came here on our first date."

"Oh yeah," Janine nodded, "I remember you calling me and telling me all about it."

"What did she say?" John asked.

Janine looked at Mary slyly. "Should I tell him?"

Mary hesitated a little. "Oh, go on."

"Yeah. Go on, Janine," John said, "We're married now."

Janine grinned. "Well, she may have mentioned how she thought you were very attractive. She liked your sense of humor. But you got negative points for not kissing her."

"I was being a gentleman!" John protested.

"You were being a prude." Mary corrected.

"I was not. I am anything but a prude!"

"Yes well, it took Mary a few more dates to realize that." Janine winked at him, and he blushed.

"And don't get wound up about it, I do have a ring on my finger and a baby in my tummy," Mary reached out and took John's hand, a smile on her face, "I don't think kissing is really a problem anymore."

"It really isn't," John smiled and quickly leaned forward to kiss his wife.

Janine looked at them, and then leaned towards Sherlock, who seemed alarmed. She chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself, Sherl." A pause, after which she continued in a whisper, "I just wanted to ask if they are always this soppy?"

"They are." He nodded, preferring to look at Janine rather than them two kissing. "It's every two minutes, they're like bloody magnets."

Janine makes a face. "We weren't like that, were we?"

"Afraid so. But ours didn't count."

"No, it didn't." Janine agreed. "Besides, you weren't very good."

"I believe I was."

"You would believe that," Janine shrugged. "You really like yourself."

"Why wouldn't I?" Sherlock scoffed. "I'm the only person I know that talks sense."

"It is a miracle you can walk through doors with that big head of yours, Sherl."

John, who had stopped kissing his wife and started listening to their argument a long time ago, buried his head in his hands, looking at Mary with an expression that said, '_I quit_.' Mary shot John a similar, helpless expression.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly, eyes on his ex. "At least my head isn't empty. I mean, I know you can act, but no one can pretend to be that fickle."

"Is that the best you can do?" Janine asked with a snort. "You're losing your touch, Mr. Holmes."

Mary cleared her throat. "You two!" She said sternly, cutting through Sherlock's words. "Stop this nonsense. _Now_!"

"This is supposed to be a nice dinner with friends... or acquaintance, not the World War 3!" John said, his tone matching his wife's as he glared at Sherlock and Janine.

Sherlock frowned. "It's not my fault you invited _her_. She seems to love arguments."

"That is how I talk, Sherl," Janine said, "And if I remember correctly, you liked that about me. And no, don't say that it was a ruse, because that part was not. I didn't need Sherlock Holmes' deductive superpower to see that."

A small, barely noticeable, smile lit Sherlock's face and he blinked once. "It's not a superpower. And before, you had the sense not to do this at dinner."

"You barely took me out to dinner!"

"Oh, thank God!" John exclaimed, eyeing the waiter who came with their order. He wasn't sure how much more of this banter he could take. What _were_ he and Mary thinking, putting Sherlock and Janine at the same dinner table? Once the food was served, John looked at Janine, intent on making at least _one_ civilized conversation. "So, Janine, what have you doing these days?"

"Well, I'm a journalist at The Sun now. I needed a new job after my last boss dropped dead." She waved her fork towards Sherlock lazily, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you, Sherl?"

John stiffened, looking at Sherlock, who seemed calm. The media had been told that it was a suicide and what Sherlock had done had been buried... especially after the video about Moriarty. Was he being paranoid or was Janine hinting that she suspected more? Either way, he hoped Sherlock would downplay it and not show off.

Sherlock looked at Janine, pausing for a moment, not showing any worry. "No, for the first time the media and the Scotland Yard are actually correct. It was a suicide. Why would you ask?"

"It doesn't make sense. I worked really closely with that man for years. There is no way he would kill himself, especially when he could talk half the people of the world into killing themselves."

"What are you trying to say?" John asked.

"I think it was murder."

At that, Sherlock stiffened but spoke in a normal voice. "Considering he was a widely hated man I think a lot of people would've wished to murder him. But being widely hated also suggests suicide. It very well may have been murder, but this time it was suicide… These olives are nice." A feeble attempt at a change of conversation.

Janine shot him a small smile. "Hmm... Either way, he deserved to die. A horrible human, he was."

"And yet you worked for him." John commented, remembering how Magnussen had mentioned that he used to flick Janine's face. John felt bad for the woman – she had been through much as well, with Sherlock using her, with Mary using her (though she didn't know about that) and with Magnussen abusing her. And yet, she was strong. _Respect,_ John thought. And then noted how Janine stiffened at his words.

"Yes, well..." Janine focused on her food, avoiding Sherlock's inquisitive gaze, "I needed to pay the rent."

"He couldn't have paid much." Sherlock said, "I'm surprised he didn't blackmail people into working for him..."

Janine hummed, discomfort radiating from her. "Why were you so interested in him, Sherl? I never got a chance to ask you, you know with you fake-proposing to me and then getting shot..."

"Why wouldn't I be interested in him? He played on people's indifferences and secrets to benefit his own entertainment, that's enough to get anyone interested or offended. And he was a disgusting human, barely that." Sherlock said, rather loudly.

Mary frowned. "Well at least we don't have to deal with him anymore, and Janine is working at Sun...So that's good!"

"Yes. Can we please talk about something else?" John pleaded.

Janine smiled. "Sure, what do you two want to talk about?"

Mary popped her head up. "Oh, this woman in _Mothercare_ thought John and Sherlock were together."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not really bothered; John, on the other hand, sputtered, "_WHAT?!_"

Mary chuckled slightly. "Well when there are two guys together in a baby shop debating on which teddy to get, you would assume they're together..."

John shook his head. "No. No. No. I mean, why do people assume... I mean how many times – I'm NOT gay!"

"These would make such interesting headlines..." Janine said, deep in thought.

Sherlock frowned at Janine. "Why would anyone care if we were a couple or not?"

Janine rolled her eyes. "Just because you ignore all the stuff that's in the papers about you doesn't mean everyone else does too."

John shook his head. "No. Janine, _no_." He said, "Stop thinking about headlines!"

"But it's fun." Janine pouted.

John stared at her for a second before leaning back in his seat. "Alright. I'm getting the words 'Not Gay' tattooed on my forehead."

Sherlock tilted his head. "I don't see why you're so bothered by what everyone else thinks. You're married to Mary."

"Yeah, and a tattoo may affect married life." Mary joked.

"Exactly! I have a baby on the way," John exclaimed unhappily, "And people still think I'm gay."

Janine brightened up. "Hey, that rhymed!" She giggled and a second later, the consulting detective joined her.

John glared at them. Sherlock had the most bizarre sense of humor. "Grow up, both of you!"

Sherlock didn't stop for a few more seconds. "Okay. Okay... I still don't see why you're so defensive of it though."

"Because it's wrong! I mean, being gay is not, but assuming that someone is especially when said man has said again and again that he is not." John whined, not liking the fact that he sounded like a five-year old now but also glad to see that his best friend was enjoying himself. He looked at his wife. "Also, I could pull off a forehead tattoo."

"Uh, no you couldn't." Mary said matter-of-factly.

"You couldn't pull of a moustache so I doubt you could pull of a forehead tattoo." Sherlock stated.

John glared at him and then focused on his meal. He was sort of enjoying this dinner but he was going to ignore them now... he could pull off a tattoo. And that moustache was not _that_ bad!

Mary looked at Sherlock. "I think he pulled off the moustache quite well..." She tried.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No. No, he didn't."

Janine took a sip of her wine. "Don't sugar-coat it, Sherl. Besides, you don't look so good with the stubble as well."

John looked up, a small grin on his face as he looked at Janine. This _could_ cheer him up. "Go on."

"Do I need to?" Janine asked. "See a picture of him with stubble. He looks all odd and dirty."

"I look fine with stubble." Sherlock protested. "I thought it looked...rugged."

Janine nodded. "Maybe the drugs turned me off."

The thought of drugs stiffened Sherlock a little, but he just took a sip of his drink. "Probably. Not the stubble though."

"No, not the stubble," Janine smiled at him then glanced at John, "Sorry, John. It seems only _you_ suck with facial hair."

John rolled his eyes. "Screw you all. I'm awesome!"

"Just not with facial hair!" Mary said, smiling.

"I'm sorry, when did the subject of this dinner change to 'Insult John Watson'?" John asked.

"I bet you liked it better when I was insulting Sherl." Janine took a bite of her pasta.

"Yes, I did!"

"But everyone else prefers it when we pick on you." Sherlock looked at John. "I don't think we have much else to point fun at besides facial hair and sexuality so I think you're safe." He joked.

John made a face. "Right. Cheers."

Janine looked at Mary. "So back to the baby shopping. When that woman assumed John and Sherlock were a couple, what did you do?"

"I laughed. And then corrected them," Mary answered.

"Huh," Janine said, "If I were in your place, I would have walked up to them and told them they made a cute couple!"

"Not again," John groaned. "Why don't you insult Sherlock some more, Janine?"

Sherlock smiled slightly and answered for her. "Because this is fun."

"No, no." Janine spoke up, "Insulting you is more fun. Let's do that!"

Sherlock looked at Janine. "Fine, get it over and done with, then."

"Come now, it won't be fun if you just listen to it!"

"What do you mean 'just listen to it'?"

Janine shot him a look. "You can't be that much of a genius if you don't know what 'just listen to it' means."

"I'm not debating over my insults and I'm not participating. I will listen and then see if I have anything to say."

"No fun!" Janine muttered, taking the last bite of her dish, staring at him. "By the way, did your family come across those brilliant stories I told the press about you?"

Mary snorted at the mention of that, clearly amused.

"Mycroft has them framed," Sherlock replied icily, "And my parents don't read the newspapers."

John laughed. "You should thank the heavens that they don't!"

"Yes." He looked at John. "I still worry someone will bring it up someday though."

"You could do that, John, when Sherl gets too annoying." Janine suggested.

"_There's_ an idea!" John smirked.

Sherlock frowned, now participating. "And how would you bring that up anyway? 'Oh, Mr. & Mrs. Holmes, did I mention these sexual headlines about your son?' It would be bit awkward even for you, John."

"I could just email them a copy of Janine's interview with The One Show." John glanced at Janine, "Great acting by the way."

"Who said it was acting?" she asked. "You don't think Sherl is good in the sack?"

"I don't know or care! But what you wrote was well... that can't be true." John looked from her to Sherlock.

Sherlock immediately shook his head at John. "No, no... _no_!" He objected, making Mary laugh a little.

"He's lying," Janine whispered.

"I am not. We didn't... No!" He shook his head.

Janine scoffed. "Way to go, Sherl! I told the world that you're a pretty damn good shag and instead of thanking me, you freak out."

Sherlock frowned at Janine. "I don't want to be a da – You know what, never mind." He shook his head. "What else?"

"Well, I might have a case for you," Janine replied, "I noticed something when I was working on my last story about this man who was killed in a mugging-gone-wrong."

"What did you notice?" John asked with interest.

"Well, his wife. I had read her name somewhere so I decided to look into it. This was her third marriage in last 16 months, both previous husbands dead. Black widow, maybe?" Janine looked at Sherlock, "You should try to woo her and figure it out. Won't be too hard for you, faking a relationship."

"Sounds interesting," Sherlock smirked at her, "And it's not like I haven't faked a relationship before..."

"Exactly. You also have a ring you can propose with before you crush her heart." Janine smiled sweetly, her eyes hard.

"It wouldn't be crushing her heart if she is a black widow."

"Touche," Janine raised her glass and then finished her drink. "What did you think when you were going to crush mine?"

"I didn't really think at all, I was thinking about your boss." Sherlock shrugged.

"And they say romance is dead." Janine said bitterly as she checked her watch. "I have to go. Deadline. But come by my place tomorrow and I'll give you all I have about this case." She picked up her purse and stood up, "The dinner's on me, by the way."

"What? No." John shook his head. "You really don't –"

"I had to treat you guys on getting a new job anyways," Janine said, moving around the table and quickly hugging Mary, then John. She straightened up, "Not the wine, though. Sherl is paying for that, right?"

"_John_ is paying for that." Sherlock corrected.

"No, I am not." John said. "You are."

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it again. "Fine...Unless the waiter has anything else he's hiding." He looked at Janine. "Yeah, I'll be there tomorrow at 2."

Janine smiled, hesitated for a second and then leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "You are still an arse, but it really was good to see you, Sherlock Holmes."

He turned to face her, a smile on his face. "Good to see you too."

Janine blinked, straightened up and then walked away after one last she was gone, John turned to Sherlock casually. "You two make a good team," he commented.

"Do we now?" The consulting detective asked.

"I meant as friends." John explained. "More than that, I don't know. But as friends, you two are interesting."

"I agree," Sherlock smiled, "Only when she's not making me buy the most expensive wine in the restaurant, though."

"But its good wine." John raised his glass.

"It's also expensive wine." Sherlock took a swig of it.

Mary glared at her glass of water. "This baby needs to come out soon. I miss wine!"

John hummed. "So a case. Excited?"

"You have no idea. Domestication is killing me."

Mary laughed. "I win!" Upon noticing the confused look the detective shot her, she explained, "John and I had a bet about how long it will take you to openly admit you hated normal life."

"Well, it's hardly a secret, is it?" Sherlock said.

"Yes but winning a bet is always nice." Mary shrugged.

"I can't believe John bet against it." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John.

John looked sheepish. "I bet 1 week. Mary said less, so... technically I did not bet against it."

"Look at you, trying to be all technical!" Mary giggled, squeezing his hand.

"Yup." Sherlock said, doing the same. "I'll go pay for the wine."

Sherlock stood up and walked away quickly, while John helped Mary up and out of the restaurant. The detective met them by the car, his mood clearly not good anymore. John found that amusing. "So," he began casually, once they were in the car, "How much did that wine cost?"

"For our glasses? And Janine taking an extra few? £130." He grunted.

"Ouch." John winced.

"And that will teach you not to mess with Janine." Mary said.

Sherlock nodded, annoyed. "£130!"

"Fake proposal!" John reminded him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, defeated, and slumped back in his seat. "Shut up and drive."

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**Wow, that was a long one! **

**Hope you liked it. Do REVIEW and let me know! **

**Until next time, readers! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everybody! **

**And wow! Thank you _SO_ much for your lovely response to this story. I really appreciate it :) **

**This chapter is not as long as the last one. It's actually pretty short, but this seemed like the right place to stop. ****I hope you enjoy reading it! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC. It belongs to BBC (duh!), Moffat and Gatiss.**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 5**

**x**

Janine's hunch about that woman being a black widow had been correct, and the next three days were a whirlwind for Sherlock and John. Some flirting, a brilliant Salsa dance (that involved Sherlock, of course; John was horrible!), a mad chase across London, some insane deductions, a fight in the mall (the press had a field day with that one!), a poisoning, a trap and an arrest later, the case was solved and the boys returned home. And as they enjoyed the delicious roast that Mary had made for dinner, they had agreed that the case had been an eight-and-a-half. Sherlock had even sent a '_thank you for bringing this case to my notice_' text to Janine, much to John's surprise and Mary's glee.

But then things returned to normal. The next two days were spent baby shopping some more and painting the baby's nursery room off-white ("Just because she's a girl doesn't mean everything has to be pink!" John had said.) and then putting on the wall stickers (A forest tree filled with flowers with some cute, cartoon owls perched on the branches. "This is ridiculous. Owls don't look like that!" Sherlock had complained, eyeing the wall with distaste.)

Now, it was late at night and Sherlock had retired for the night after politely making some _not-so-polite_ comments about the normal life in the suburbs. Considering Sherlock's limits, it was a miracle he lasted this long. Though John couldn't help but be amused by the thought of Sherlock living in _that_ same room with those owls… He had warned the detective not to ruin the baby's room at any cost, and then hidden his gun in an out-of-Sherlock's-reach location. John wasn't sure such a place existed, but he had to try...

With the detective asleep upstairs, John had decided to spend some quality time with his wife. Currently, they were cuddling on the sofa, watching some crappy TV that made no sense. "Are you getting any of this?" John asked Mary when he couldn't take it anymore.

Mary looked at John, then at the TV and shook her head. "Not one bit."

He chuckled and pressed the mute button on the remote. "Then I don't see why I have to tolerate this woman's tears."

"We don't." She smiled and patted her swollen stomach. "I love being pregnant."

He frowned. "Crying woman in crap telly. You loving your pregnancy. I do not see the link but I'll go with it." He smiled when she giggled, "Soon enough, we'll have a little baby in the house."

"I can't wait. It'll be hard, but it'll be worth it. We still need to sort out a name, you know?"

John hummed. "Sherlock expects us to name her Sherlock, you know?"

"Well, we do owe it to him." Mary said and he nodded in agreement. "But I suppose we could do it discreetly, with his initials or something."

"That's a great idea!" he exclaimed. "I was dreading having to name my baby girl 'Sherlocketta Watson'. I mean, that is just child abuse!"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Okay, so... SH? What do you think? Shelby Hannah?" She suggested.

John made a face. "No!" A pause, "How about we decide one name at a time?"

"Okay."

"Sandrine?" John suggested.

"What, like '_Sun dried_'_?!_ No."

"Alright… How about Selena?"

"No." Mary paused in thought, "Sharlotte?"

"No. Sage?"

"Do you want to name our daughter after food?" Mary asked and then continued without waiting for a reply. "Something else."

John thought for a few moments. "Serena is a pretty name..."

Mary shook her head. "Oh no, I met a Serena once, she was horrible." Mary shook her head. "Syria?"

"It's a baby, not a country!" John said. "Shauna?"

Mary snorted. "A _sauna_, John, really?"

"Shauna, not sauna."

"There is not much difference between the two!" Mary exclaimed. She thought for a moment, then, "Shannon. I like Shannon."

John smiled cheekily. "I dated a Shannon once. She was _very_ attractive." He looked at his wife. "Still like that name?"

Mary frowned. "Come to think of it Shannon is awful..."

John laughed. "What are we going to do? We can't even name our baby!"

"We've got time," Mary kissed his cheek.

John hummed and pulled her closer to him before picking up the remote and channel surfing, barely paying attention to what was on. Finding a decent name that they both liked should not be _that_ hard. Next to him, Mary was silent as well and he knew that she was thinking the same thing.

_Oh well..._ he glanced back at the TV and paused, a smile appearing on his face. "Gone with the wind is on!" he said brightly, all worries forgotten. "God, I love this film!"

"Yeah, you made me watch it a hundred times!" Mary moaned.

"It's a classic!" John told her.

Mary rolled her eyes but said nothing. They watched in silence for a few minutes and then John turned the volume down. "You know... Scarlett is a nice name."

"Scarlett is a name that exists, yes." Mary looked at John.

He looked back at her, his eyes almost pleading and a small, suggestive smile on his lips. He didn't say anything, just tried to convey his idea through his expression. And he knew that she understood.

Mary sighed. "John, I don't want to name our daughter after some fictitious girl who gets carried around by a man."

"But this will be _our_ daughter. She'll be strong and smart and beautiful, just like me –" He paused when Mary slapped his arm lightly before going on, "And you have to admit that Scarlett Watson sounds good."

Mary thought about it before sighing again. "It does have a nice ring to it." She couldn't help but smile at the expression of glee on her husband's face, "But that's just an S. We need a H."

John thought about it for a second. "H. _H_. H… Hannah. Hayley. Holly." He stopped when he noticed Mary biting her lip, as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure about it. "What?"

"What about Harriet?" she suggested.

John froze, an image of his sister flashing in his mind. "Harriet?" he asked. "Why Harriet?"

"Well, it begins with a H. And it's your sister's name."

"My sister, who didn't even come to our wedding."

"You still love her though."

"Of course I do, but..." John trailed off, not sure what he wanted. He was angry at Harry. They never got along. But she was still his sister, and they grew up together and despite everything, he loved her. He was so conflicted.

"Maybe naming our daughter after her will, I don't know, bring you two together a little." Mary said softly, "You can't stay mad at her forever."

"You're right. Harriet sounds perfect." John admitted with a sigh, a small smile on his face. "And you're okay with this? I mean, if you like some other name then we can go with that."

"No, I've always loved Harriet." She nodded.

John leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "Scarlett Harriet Watson it is, then."

Mary smiled. "Scarlett Harriet Watson. Perfect."

"She will be amazing." John said, placing a hand over Mary's belly. "And you and I going to spoil her so much."

"We are. I already know that she'll wrap you around her tiny fingers."

He laughed. "What about you?"

"I've always been a sucker for babies." She said with a shrug, then looked up at John. "Her Godfather is going to spoil her too."

John made a face. "He'll probably teach her how to conduct those insane experiments. No. We can't have that... What if she starts bringing severed feet home too? I mean, dealing with boys is going to be a headache and now _feet_! I can't have that. I mean, seriously! This is just getting out of control, isn't it?" His voice was a mixture of resignation and panic, and this seemed to amuse Mary. A lot.

"At least she'll know how to deal with criminals. Just maybe not the right way." She joked.

John glared at her. "You're supposed to say that she isn't even born yet, and the feet and the boys are far off in the future and that I shouldn't worry. Seriously, Mary, you are terrible help!"

Mary laughed. "I'm joking! I'm joking! She'll be fine. She might not even like boys... and it could be thumbs."

John groaned, resting his head back. "I hate you!"

"I hate you too, Sweetie." Mary laughed. "She will be okay, though."

"Yeah." John nodded, his thoughts moving from his baby to his best friend. "And what about Sherlock?"

Mary frowned slightly. "He will be okay too. He's with us, so he'll be okay."

"He hasn't talked about drugs for days so that's good, but I still see him zoning out at times. He gets all anxious and jumpy, and he thinks I don't notice."

Mary bit her lip, she'd noticed that too. "That's going to happen with withdrawal. He'll be back to normal before you know it." She paused for a few seconds. "And even if he isn't, his brother will send him to rehab. He'll get help there." She said reassuringly.

"Sherlock won't go to rehab. He will do something incredibly stupid to avoid it and I don't want that to happen."

Mary was silent again. "And it won't."

John smiled and then kissed her quickly. "Look at you, trying to make me all optimistic."

She smiled into the kiss. "Well, John, you are a bit depressing."

"I'm depressing?" he asked incredulously, pulling back. "You cried the other day over one of your old, small sized dresses!"

"I'm allowed to. I'm pregnant, twice the emotions and much to my dismay, twice the size!"

"Alright, fine. But then you spent an hour blaming me for your size." He told her. "I mean, how is this my fault?"

Mary cleared her throat and looked at him. "Well, I didn't get pregnant on my own, did I? And I read in a magazine that the size of the bump depends on the male's genes."

"Alright, so it is slightly my fault." He said sheepishly.

Mary smiled, leaning closer to him so that their lips were centimeters apart. "Only slightly." She whispered and placed her lips on his in a soft, lazy kiss.

They snogged for a short while until John pulled away. "Um, let's not start something we won't be able to finish," he pecked her lips once more. "You need to rest."

Mary rolled her eyes then lay back down on the sofa. John shook his head and got up, gently pushing her up with him. "Bed." he ordered. They climbed up the stairs and started towards their bedroom. "Should I check on our mid-thirties baby detective?" John wondered out loud, glancing at the closed door to Sherlock's room.

Mary looked at the closed door, and then nodded. "Yeah. Go see if he's started a staring contest with the owls."

John chuckled as he walked over to the room and knocked on the door, waiting. "Sherlock?" he called.

No reply.

He looked over his shoulder at Mary, who was leaning against the wall, staring at him. "Maybe he's asleep."

"Probably." Mary agreed, biting her lip. She wasn't so sure. It was too early for Sherlock to be sleeping. And the room sounded _too_ silent. She made a knocking gesture with her hand, "Knock louder."

John hesitated for a second before doing as she told. He waited for a second before doing it again.

Nothing.

John frowned. This can't be right. Sherlock was not a heavy sleeper. Sherlock was barely a sleeper. "Sherlock," John called, turning the knob. "I'm coming in. So if you're naked, please cover yourself and save me the heart attack of horror!"

John opened the door and froze.

The bed was unmade. Sherlock's things were strewn all over the place. The room was empty. And the window was open.

_The window was open!_

"He's gone." John looked at Mary, who had waddled behind him, in horror. "Mary, he's gone!

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**There you go. That was Chapter 5. Yes. A cliffhanger. Sort of. **

**The next chapter will be up soon. In the meantime, feedback on this one will be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello readers! **

**Thank you for the wonderful feedback. I love you all!**

**Here's the next chapter. And it's much longer. So go on, read, enjoy and review... pretty please?**

**Disclaimer: If Sherlock belonged to me, there would be a new series coming out every 6 months! **

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 6**

**x**

The notes from Sherlock's violin had transformed from long elegant notes into abrupt muddled noises as he thought. It was a Tuesday night and the Watsons were downstairs, watching the crap television and cuddling, no doubt. But it was better than what he was doing, and that was easing in and out of his mind palace and thinking over the events of the previous week.

The case had been good. It had been fun. But the urge to put a needle in his arm came back the second it was over. He had checked the website – nothing. He had indirectly asked Lestrade – apparently the biggest mystery at the Scotland Yard was who at Inspector Dimmock's lunch. That and a couple of hit and runs. Not worth his time.

Decorating the stupid room for the baby was Watson's agenda and Sherlock had no choice but to join them. He glared at the owl sticker on the wall – if you could call it that. The bloody thing was smiling at him. It was smiling at everything. It was smiling _all_ the time. So annoying!

He wished he could make the owls go away. He wished he could make the boredom go away. But he also knew what would make it all go away. If he just had some on him, he would quickly prepare his arm and –

'_And I will send you back to rehab_,' a voice in his head that sounded exactly like Mycroft's spoke up.

Sherlock dragged his violin strings with the waxed quiver, making a horrible screech. Then stopped. He didn't want to disturb the Watson's domestic time.

'_John is still pissed with you._' Another voice, now Moriarty's, sang. '_He is mad and so disappointed, Sherlock You let him down. Tut tut tut_.'

Sherlock threw his violin in the bed, lying down next to it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but it did nothing to help.

'_John will slip up. He will not be able to keep you on the straight and narrow,_' Mycroft was speaking again. '_And you'll get dragged off to a facility for six months where you can't have your precious drugs._'

And then the next voice was Sherlock's own. Not out loud. In his head. But it was his and it was saying things that made his stomach turn in discomfort. '_And in that facility, you can't see John and Mary. You have to tolerate the stupid people, and Mycroft will be correct._' The voice sneered. '_And of course, you will be wrong._'

No. No. _No!_ This was stupid. He should have control over it, he did usually… it's not like he has nothing to do. He has his violin, things to deduce, even his skull, lack of cigarettes mind.

But no drugs.

He almost groaned. In his life he'd gotten to the point where he couldn't care less what he took or how he took them, he _just_ needed them. Plain and simple. But he couldn't have them, because they're 'bad,' apparently.

Taking them again was a stupid move, he now knew that. It was a necessary move, with Magnussen and all, but stupid nonetheless. Though, that didn't change his need for them.

He was able to hide it when baby shopping and eating and talking… he was proud of it, being able to hide his need for them well enough to be in public and enough to make it through one conversation with his brother and two with his parents, but Sherlock couldn't help but think that John had liked him less when he had found out about the relapse. That he had let his best friend down. That every time he lied to him or Mary, the more he was just a junkie who John had let into his house.

Memories of rehabilitation soon crawled into his mind – having to be dragged from a gutter, having to see his needles and bags and only he knows what-else disposed of, being thrown into a rehab facility. He couldn't help feeling his brother wasn't really bothered about his drug problem mainly because every time the problem arose he'd just throw him back inside carelessly. He remembered threatening to overdose to the point of death if his brother didn't back off. He was going back a few too many years now and remembering things weren't doing any good for his boredom situation.

_Boredom._

That was here again, the thing that caused all of this in the first place.

He jumped off his bed and paced around his bedroom, or in his opinion, cell. "Deduce something!" he ordered himself, his voice piercing the silence in the room. He looked at a set of drawers – they were empty of course, except for his skull resting on top.

"Old, about 60 years, not passed down, found at a car boot sale in… Birmingham. Brass knobs, previous owner didn't see worth. Bought for baby purposes. Kept in here for junkie purposes…" He said quickly, opening and closing the first drawer.

That was awful, _just awful_. He was slapping himself across the face now for the terrible deduction, but the boredom and the thought about shooting up was fogging the mind.

The drawer was on the floor now, so was his suitcase and Sherlock rummaging through it to find some trace where his cocaine once was.

But it was bone dry. Mary had made sure that he threw _all _he had. There was nothing left. Nothing to release him from this awful reality…

He realized that he was hyperventilating and he leaned against the wall, trying to control it. He took deep breaths. It didn't help. He blinked rapidly. It didn't help. He gulped. Nope, still not better.

'_You know what will make it all better_,' Moriarty's voice spoke up again.

He shut that door of his mind palace. But the damage was done. He knew that the voice was right. He knew he knew what he needed. And that need, it was _too_ strong. And he was alone.

The room felt so small – the walls were closing in on him and he was trapped, suffocating – helpless and unable to move… Until his eyes landed on the window.

A horrible yet perfect thought came to mind: He could do it. He could give into _the need_. There was a drug dealer's place just a few miles from this neighbourhood. It would sort out the boredom and the stress and the panicking. He'd be able to deduce better. _He'll_ be better. And John would be happier with him if he appeared normal.

A happy John confirmed it.

Before he knew it, he was wrapped in his coat and scarf, out the window and a few miles away from the house, knowing exactly where he was going.

**xx**

John was angry, really angry. So angry that even Mary had flinched and stepped back from him when he had slammed the door to Sherlock's room shut on his way out. And Mary _never_ flinched. She was a strong, confident woman. _Hell!_ She had been a secret agent, she had done all kinds of things...

_Perhaps thinking about something that makes you mad is not the best thing to do right now_, his mind told him. And he stopped that line of thought right there, focusing on the task at hand:

Find Sherlock Holmes.

And then kill him in a brutal, painful way.

How dare he run away in the middle of the night? How dare he betray John's trust once again? John had told him again and again to come to him if something was wrong, if the urge got too strong and Sherlock had promised him that he will. Sherlock had insisted that he was fine.

_That lying bastard!_ John thought furiously, once again dialing Sherlock's number.

No answer.

Again.

John had been searching for his friend for almost two hours now. Mary was at home, clearly worried. She kept on calling him and he kept on telling her to go to sleep. But he knew that was not going to happen.

He had swung by Molly's flat, asking if she had let Sherlock bunk in her bedroom once again. She hadn't. Then she had accompanied him to Bart's looking around in the lab and the morgue. Sherlock was not there. Molly had made him promise to let her know if he found the detective, no matter what the time. So now he knew that Molly was worried.

John had went by Baker Street to see if Sherlock had stopped by. He hadn't. The flat was empty. No signs of Sherlock Holmes there. And now, Mrs. Hudson was worried as well!

John had called Mycroft, of course, and Greg too. They said they would look into it. But so far they hadn't had any success. Sherlock's bolt holes were empty. He was not in the crack house where John had found him the last time, or in the alley where he had wanted to stop the day he had told John about his relapse, or in two of the other places he had frequented in the past for drugs.

_Where the hell is he, then?!_ John slapped the steering wheel of his car in frustration.

His phone beeped.

It was a text from Mycroft - an address to some place a few miles from John's neighbourhood. Without wasting any time, John turned around the car and sped up.

**xx**

John landed on his feet when he jumped through the ground floor window and into what would have been a bedroom. The address led John to yet another abandoned house, a drug den clearly, and this time John didn't have the patience to knock on the door.

Pulling out his flashlight, he clicked it on and walked out of the room and down the hallway, pausing when he entered the dark, _shithole_ of the hall. A couple of boys were against the wall, snogging in their high, not a care in the world. A few others were sleeping all over the place. John noticed a boy and a girl, doing the lines of coke in the corner.

They were in their teenage. How could they ruin their lives like that? As sad as that was, that was not John's problem at the minute. He walked over to them and cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. Have you seen him?"

The girl was clearly too busy with the drugs to respond, but the boy shrugged.

John took a deep breath. "Tall bloke. Curly black hair. Blue eyes. Cheekbones. Wears a long coat."

The boy nodded. "Shezza? Yeah." And pointed to the corner where a huddled figure – which John recognized as his stupid best friend – sat, facing the wall.

John quickly walked over to Sherlock, shining his flashlight on him, and noticing an empty syringe lying on the floor next to him. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock continued to face the wall. Of course, he had heard John talking to that stupid junkie of a boy. And now John was here. John. "John! John, John, John, John." He repeated a few times over shakily, knowing his best friend was angry.

"Sherlock. Get up." John hissed. And then waited for a few seconds for Sherlock to respond, but when he didn't, John reached forward and grabbed his best friend's arm roughly, pulling him up. "I said _get up_!"

"_NO!_" Sherlock shouted as he pulled his arm out of John's grasp, his voice echoing through the hall. He stared at the wall for a second or two before getting up, still not meeting John's eyes. "I'm up!"

John had no patience whatsoever for Sherlock's tantrum and he made it clear when he spoke up. "We're leaving. You're coming. No arguments." He was pissed and it took all of his strength not to strangle him right here. Instead, John grabbed Sherlock's arm once again, his hold tight, not caring if it hurt the man and dragged him towards the door and out of the house.

None of the junkies cared enough to get in the way, or maybe they had the sense to stay out of the way. Either way, John was glad once they were out of the damn house without any interruption.

Sherlock let John drag him. He was fading in and out anyway, but every so often he'd mumble something or shiver and realize where he was again. "Where are we going? I liked it in there!"

"We're going to the gallows," John muttered, opening the door of the car. "Get in."

"I don't want to..." Sherlock said, reluctantly stepped into the car. "Fine."

John quickly fired off a text to Mycroft, Molly and Lestrade: _Found him high. Taking him home._

And then, he got into the car. The ride back home was silent... and over the speed limit. Sherlock's muttering, dilated eyes and the obvious track marks on his arm did not help John relax.

They were greeted by a worried Mary at the door, who seemed relieved to see them. She was about to hug the detective, but stopped. One look at Sherlock told her that he was high on God knows what, and one look at her husband had told her that he was high on anger. So, she silently stepped aside to let them in.

Once inside the house, John stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving, a murderous glare fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to avoid John's glare but couldn't, so he just stared back. He didn't apologize or come up with excuses, he just stood there. He tried thinking of something to day but nothing came to his mind. Everything was hazy. And everything was clear. But the words… he couldn't find them. He didn't even know what he was looking for. So, he waited for John to go ballistic.

Mary looked between them, and then cleared her throat tentatively. "Sherlock, um, you should sit down."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to Mary, who nodded towards the couch, her face devoid of emotion and still somehow gentle. "Yes." He agreed quietly and practically threw himself on the sofa, rearranging himself so he was sitting normally and he looked at them both again.

"Why?" John's voice was barely audible, but filled with fury.

"Why?" Sherlock paused a moment, thinking. "Why? I told you why."

John smiled menacingly. "I want a proper answer and I'm not going to ask a third time, Sherlock. _Why_?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, knowing he was close to being strangled by his best friend. "I had to," He said quietly, "I had to do it. You sure as hell weren't going to let me go, so I went without telling you."

John angrily stepped forward but Mary quickly got in his way. "John, please," she pleaded.

"Get out of my way, Mary." John's eyes never left the consulting detective.

"No." She said, "You need to sit down."

"Out of my way." He knew he was scaring his wife, but right now, he couldn't care less about that.

"Please, you should –"

"Mary –"

"John."

"Why are you defending him?" He shouted, his voice echoing in the entire house, as he finally looked at his wife, "Don't you dare try to justify what _he_ did! Don't you dare take _his_ side!"

Mary didn't step back, even though she wanted to. She stood her ground, a hand resting on her belly protectively, silently begging her husband to calm down. Sherlock stood up, watching them. It's not like he could apologize to John, it's not like it would change anything. But this was not good. He didn't want John to hurt Mary... not that John would ever do such a thing. But right now, John was _too_ angry. And Mary had done nothing to deserve this shouting.

"John..." Sherlock said, panicked.

John rounded on him. "What is it?" His voice grew louder. "Are you getting off your high? Want some more? _What_ is it?"

"John please," Sherlock begged, his voice full of desperation, "It... I thought..." He couldn't finish his sentence and panicked again, running a hand through his hair.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put your head through a wall."

"I don't have one." Sherlock replied, his voice rising to a shout by the end. "I know why you're angry... But I'm not there anymore, I'm _here_. I'm high and I want some more, but I'm here and I'm not getting _any_!"

"That does not explain or eliminate the fact that you went there in the first place!" John shouted back.

Sherlock shook his head. "Well, it's done now so there's no point in getting angry about it."

John glared at Sherlock, fists clenched. He took a step forward, his intention of beating Sherlock to a pulp obvious, and then stopped. He took a deep breath and finally looked away in disgust. "Get out. Get out of my sight, right _now_."

"John!" Mary seemed horrified.

"Tell him to leave, Mary." John turned to his wife. "I don't want to see his face. I can't… Just go."

Sherlock nodded, his eyes moving from John to the front door of the house. He took a step in that direction, but paused when he saw Mary shaking her head.

"Bedroom, Sherlock." Her voice was hard, quiet. And yet he didn't think that words could be kinder than that.

He scurried across the living room and over to the stairs, hoping that John wouldn't ask him to leave the house. But John remained frozen in spot, his eyes fixed on a wall just so he didn't have to look at Sherlock. Because he didn't want to. And that hurt Sherlock, more than anything. Pushing down that hurt, he hurried up the stairs.

Once Sherlock was out of sight, John doubled over, hands on his knees as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, his frame trembling as he tried to control his anger.

Mary stepped closer to him and rubbed his back gently. "It's okay, it's okay," she murmured. "Just breathe. It's all okay."

He stayed like that for a few seconds before straightening up, his eyes fixed on hers. "It's not okay. I shouted at you. I'm so sor –"

Mary cut his words off by pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss, one that he eagerly returned, her hands resting on his cheeks. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

John nodded once. "What was I thinking, Mary? He's not going to get better. He doesn't want to!"

Mary sighed deeply. "You tried, John. You stuck with him and tried, and he failed you." She said in a reassuring voice.

"Yes, he did." John nodded.

Their conversation was interrupted with the sound of the doorbell. Stepping away from his wife, John went to answer it, only to find himself face to face with Mycroft Holmes.

"Where is he?" Mycroft asked coldly as soon as the door was opened.

"Upstairs." John replied, stepping aside to let him in, "But it's no use talking to him right now. He's too high to care."

"I wasn't going to talk to him. I was simply going to take him." Mycroft said, looking around the living room.

John froze. "What?"

"Take him where?" Mary asked.

"The rehabilitation facility. It clearly got out of your hands."

Mary shook her head. "No, Mr. Holmes. That is not the solution to this problem."

Mycroft fixed his cool gaze on her. "I'm not leaving him here, Mrs. Watson, and he's going whether he likes it or not."

"You cannot do this. He will hate you and he will hate all of us."

"Him hating us makes no difference."

"It does, and what this will just make matters worse," Mary looked at John, her eyes pleading, "John, tell him!"

John didn't reply. Maybe rehab was what Sherlock needed…

Mary must have read that thought on his face for she shook her head vigorously. "You know I'm right, John."

John seemed to be in thought for a few moments before he let out a breath. "You're right." He said, turning to Mycroft. "You cannot take him."

"I can and I will." Mycroft raised his chin, his voice full of authority, "He needs professional help. I knew I shouldn't have left it to you two in the first place."

"He needs help," John agreed, "But you cannot just drag him to rehab against his wishes."

A tiny frown appeared on Mycroft's face. "I don't see why not. I have before, they helped my brother then and they will help him now."

"Well, they didn't do a good job of helping him, did they?" John said, nodding towards the stairs where Sherlock had disappeared.

"They did a better job then you're doing now."

"Nobody in the rehab facility can make Sherlock better if he doesn't want to get better, Mycroft," John said exasperatedly, "Don't you get that?"

"And being around the people he knows and cares about might be a better incentive," Mary pointed out.

Mycroft shook his head. "When this began I told you that if something like this happens I would take him to rehab. I am a man of my word."

"Don't force him into rehab." John said, "I'm very, very angry at him, and no matter how much I resist, I _will_ punch him about this eventually. But I haven't given up on him yet. I want what's best for him, and you want the same. Please, Mycroft."

Mycroft was silent for a few moments, his eyes piercing into John. "I won't take him to the rehabilitation facility. But how do I know I can trust him here?"

"He won't do this again –"

"That's what you said last time. That's what he said last time." Mycroft glanced at his pocket watch. "I do not have time for this. If you slip up one more time there will be no questions, no polite knocking on the door, he will be going straight there."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Deal."

Mycroft nodded once. "Now, I would like to speak to my brother."

Without waiting for a reply, the British Government turned and headed towards the stairs. John was about to follow him but the man looked over his shoulder and shook his head lightly, indicating that the conversation was going to remain between the brothers alone, before heading up. He walked over to the door and knocked twice – because he remembered the manners Mummy taught him – and then barged into the room – because damn manners, his brother was doing drugs again – and smiled at Sherlock icily. "Hello brother dear. How are you?"

Sherlock was lying flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in his temporary bedroom. He lifted his head up slightly to see Mycroft. "Brother."

"High again?"

"Again."

Mycroft's smile faltered. "Surely you should be able to remember our last conversation even in this state. You made your mistake and now that bed in the rehab facility awaits you."

Sherlock frowned and put his head back on the pillow. "Nope."

"Sherlock. We had a deal."

"We had a deal that if it got out of John's hands you would send me back. It got out of my hands, not his." Sherlock said, as if it made sense.

"Well, he clearly doesn't know what to do with you anymore." Mycroft noticed with satisfaction when Sherlock's cool mask dropped for a second.

"What do you mean he doesn't know what to do with me anymore? Of course he does." He said quietly.

"Does he? Sherlock, the man has tried talking to you, has tried being angry, being understanding, being supportive. He let you in his house; he let you in his life. He made you the god-father of his unborn child – the being that will matter to him the most in this world," Mycroft stated, "And yet, here you are, in his house, in his child's room, high on heroine."

Sherlock remained silent, then changed the conversation..._ish_. "I'm not going to rehab."

"So you intend to stay here and insult the Watson's loyalty some more?"

"Yes. No. Yes. No." He continued doing that for a few more seconds. "Why are you talking to me, Mycroft? It is not helping."

"Doctor Watson insists that you should stay. And you care about him – which is stupid in my opinion, but that is not important at the moment. If you really do care about him then stop hurting him and agree to go to rehab."

"But he doesn't think that will help, and nor do I!" Sherlock protested, pushing himself up and swinging his legs so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor. "If it doesn't help then I will hurt him more, won't I? So, no."

Mycroft's face hardened. "Then fix yourself, Sherlock. I don't care how, but do it. One more mistake, one indication that you are slipping and I will drag you and lock you in that rehabilitation facility myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Sherlock smiled widely, not a real one. "Crystal."

Mycroft's smile matched his brother's. "Good." Without waiting for a second, he walked out of the room.

* * *

**There you go. Good? Bad? Just okay? Please review and let me know!**

**Next chapter will be up soon. Bye! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, my wonderful readers! I want to thank you for the reviews and feedback. And ****I'm back with the next chapter. So grab your tissue boxes and read!**

**To answer "Anon", yes this story is co-written with 'Sherlockintheden' (previously Sherlockskisses) on Tumblr. She writes Sherlock's parts, I write John's. The other characters, we just divide them up between us! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately.**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 7**

**x**

"... Then they tried to kill us. I had my gun, luckily, and Sherlock developed some fighting skills when he was dismantling Moriarty's network." John told Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade as he pressed the white handkerchief to his cheek, wincing. The cut wasn't too deep or dangerous, but it hurt. As did his bruised ribs. The fight had not been a piece of cake. "Which will explain these five knocked out men, and the boss tied to the chair."

Greg took notes for reference and looked at the 5 unconscious men lying around in the area. The police had sealed off the place and were looking for evidence and taking photographs.

One month had gone by since the day John had convinced – or begged, though he would never admit it –Mycroft to not drag Sherlock to the rehab. One _long_ month.

After the incident, John hadn't spoken to Sherlock for days. He didn't even stay in the same room as him. He knew that it hurt Sherlock, but he was too pissed to care. And frankly, the bastard deserved it.

Then, one day, he walked into Sherlock's room – which had a colourful shaggy rug now. If Sherlock didn't like it, he kept it to himself. The detective had been surprised to see him. He had been even more surprised when John had punched him, even though he later said that he saw it coming. And then, they started talking again. Mary had disapproved of the punch, but it was a start.

Of course, things didn't get better exactly. Sherlock wasn't using, which was great. He didn't dare run away again, but with _all_ the possibilities of getting some drugs again gone, the withdrawal hit him hard. Chills, insomnia, nausea, nightmares, depression, agitation… It got better after some days, but it was there. And Sherlock put up more walls around him. He still sat down with them and ate dinner, he still sat down and watched telly, he still helped them when they asked but he was… disconnected. He came close to using again once, but John was able to stop that from happening.

So when Lestrade called them with a double homicide case, things seemed to be looking up.

And here they were, four days later, standing in a storage warehouse that was the den of one of the biggest drug rings of the city. Funny, how a case of two murders had led them to this.

"I'll need Sherlock's statement as well." Greg said.

John nodded and looked over his shoulder. But found no one there. "He was standing there. Where is he?"

Greg followed John's gaze. "His head was bleeding as well. Maybe's he with the ambulance downstairs." He said, "Let's go."

John frowned, but followed the inspector downstairs. "Had I known that this case would lead to drugs, I would never have let Sherlock take it. Or I would have asked you to solve it yourself, Greg."

"None of us knew it would lead to this. And we were stumped on this one." the lawman shrugged lightly. "Besides, he's clean now. It's fine."

"Yeah..." John sounded uncertain. They walked out of the building and past the parked police cars towards the ambulance. Sherlock wasn't in there or around it. "Where has he gone off to?"

One of the paramedics looked at John. "We need to examine your injuries, sir."

"Sherlock?" John looked at the man, "Did you treat him? Where is he?"

"Sorry, sir. Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" The paramedic looked confused so John shook his head and turned to Lestrade. "Ask your people if they've seen him. We need to find him."

Greg was confused for a minute, then realized why John was being like that. "On it!" He said quickly.

Warning bells were ringing in John's head and he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Sherlock's number.

"Sir, you are hurt," The paramedic said.

"Not now!" John snapped at him and walked away, looking around. He could see Greg asking the members of his team and judging by his reactions, no one had seen him. "Come on, Sherlock. Answer the phone."

Just as John was about to hang up Sherlock answered the phone. "John." He said.

"Sherlock. Where are you?" John asked.

"I'm at Baker Street."

"Why did you disappear?" John spoke into the phone, shooting Greg a thumbs-up so the inspector stopped looking for the detective, "Are you okay? You were injured and the paramedics said you didn't go to them."

"I'm fine, yes."

"I'm coming there." John said, hurrying towards his car.

**xx**

Less than 10 minutes later, John hurried up the stairs and entered 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, a bleeding gash on the side of his forehead. But what made John stop in his tracks was the syringe that Sherlock was fiddling with. The detective's eyes were fixed on John's armchair, upon which sat an open box, full of white powdered packets and a couple of syringes filled with… John didn't even want to know. "Sherlock," He spoke up, horrified, "What is all this?"

Sherlock continued to fiddle with the syringe, as if John wasn't there and finally looked at his best friend, his facial expression unmoved. "It was a drugs case, John." He said, as if that justified everything.

_Don't get angry, don't get angry, don't get angry. _John kept on repeating these words as he walked into the kitchen silently. He washed his hands and then returned back to the living room with the first aid box. Pulling out an anti-septic and some cotton, he stepped over to Sherlock. "Did you take any?" he asked, brushing aside Sherlock's hair so he could dab the cotton on his wound.

Sherlock put his syringe down on the arm of his chair and then leaned his head back so John could do his doctor duties. "No." He bit his lip. "No, I didn't take any."

"Good," John said, examining his wound, "You won't need stitches for this. I'll just bandage it up."

John worked in silence for a few minutes, properly cleaning the wound and bandaging it. Then he stepped back, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. There was a bruise forming on his cheek, the cut was not bleeding. Good. It could wait. "So," he began, picking up the drugs from his chair and placing them on the small table, well within Sherlock's view. "Why didn't you take any?"

Sherlock looked at the drugs then shook his head at himself and looked at John. "I almost did."

John nodded towards the syringe Sherlock had put aside. "I noticed." A pause, "Do you want to?"

"I won't."

"Really?"

Sherlock sighed, his eyes snapping to the syringe again. "I just got better."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" John snorted. "Admit it, you want to use it. Admit that if I leave now you will use it. The least you can do is be honest, Sherlock."

"If you leave now... Honestly, yes." He kept his eyes on his friend to stop himself looking at his drugs, or taking them.

John stared back in silence for a few, long moments. His mind was spinning - the exhaustion, the anger, the disappointment, the appreciation for his honesty, all forming a tornado. On the outside, though, he remained calm. "Go ahead," he said finally, "You can take the drugs if you want to."

At those words, Sherlock reached out for them, almost instinctively. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm...I want to... Is… No." He murmured, still arguing with himself whether to take them or not.

God, he wanted to. But John was here. He would disapprove. It wasn't this hard before. He could just take them. But John was right there and what if it was a test?

"It's not a test," John told him. "I'm not judging you or anything. Not anymore. You and I both know that they will kill you eventually, but that hasn't stopped you before and it won't stop you now. You can feed your _need_ if you want."

Sherlock nodded, taking in John's words, then picked up a tourniquet that John hadn't noticed. He prepped his arm and slowly inserted the needle in. He paused. There wasn't anything stopping him now, John wasn't judging him. He was just… staring. And the law probably won't be very happy about this, not that they were going to find out, but when has that ever mattered to him? The thing is he needed them. And he could have them right now. But he was terrified, terrified of getting out of this alone. No. This was not the time to think. He pushed the plunger down.

John nodded slowly, and Sherlock could have sworn that he saw a look of utter defeat and hurt flash on his face. But John ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "All this time, we've been treating you like you are a kid who doesn't know what's right or wrong. But that's not true. You know exactly what you did right now," he nodded towards the empty needle that Sherlock had pulled out, "You know exactly how harmful it is for you and you do it anyway."

"Of course I do it anyway! Like you said, it will kill me eventually. I already know that but I don't care. I need them." Sherlock narrowed his eyes in accusation. "You said you wouldn't judge me!"

"I'm not judging you." John replied instantly. Then continued after taking a deep breath, "You don't care if your drug habit kills you, Sherlock, but _I_ do. I watched you die once when you jumped from that roof, then I watched you die the second time when Mary shot you. And I cannot go through that again. I just can't. I _won't_." He paused, his face reflecting pain, "So what I'm trying to say is... this is it."

Sherlock frowned, his face deteriorating as he listened to the doctor's words. "What...? What do you mean?" His voice was guarded, as if he was almost dreading what would come next.

John slowly stood up, a sad smile on his face. "You're the bloody best man I know and I refuse to watch you destroy yourself. It's either me and Mary and our friendship, or it's the drugs."

"John –" Sherlock spoke up, but stopped when John stepped towards him, towering over him.

"You've made it quite clear that you want these, so..." John hesitated and then ruffled Sherlock's hair lightly before walking towards the main door. "I'm going to go. Get some rest, okay?"

Sherlock jumped to his feet, shaking his head. "No. No. No. No. No. Don't go. No." He choked out. "I'm sorry, John. Just stay here – Please!"

John sighed, staring back at the stumbling detective from the doorway. Sherlock seemed to be in pain and confusion – whether from John's words or from the high, he wasn't sure. Probably the latter.

He watched as Sherlock started towards him and then tripped. John reached out and grabbed his arm before he could fall and lead him to the sofa. "Lie down before you hurt your head once again," He ordered, pushing the detective down.

Sherlock lay down on the couch, failing an attempt to stand back up again. "John, please. Don't..." He reached his hand out, his mind buzzing. "I won't anymore. Don't leave me. I want to see you and… I want to see my god daughter."

"Sleep, Sherlock." John sighed. This was more painful than he had imagined, but it was the right thing – the only thing he could do.

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "John, if you leave, I will take more. I will overdose, okay? But if you stay, I won't take anymore, we'll take them back to Scotland Yard and I'll get clean again..." He babbled on.

The high had clearly kicked in now. Sherlock's speech was slurred, he was still blindly reaching out for John, and his eyes were glassy and slightly wet. John shook his head as he grasped Sherlock's hand. "Do you want me to live the rest of my life buried in guilt that I pushed you to overdose?"

"No. But that will happen if you leave..." Sherlock said, looking at the drugs on the table and then back at John.

"No, it won't. You will lie here tonight and you will sleep," John said firmly, squeezing his hand before letting go.

"John!" Sherlock tried to get up.

John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and pushed him down. "Don't move. Stay where you are." He said, "Please, will you do this for me?"

And with a pang of sadness, John realized that he was echoing Sherlock's words - the words he had said to him before he jumped off the roof of Bart's. The words that were basically... a goodbye. Yes. This is what it was: A goodbye. A heart-wrenching, painful goodbye.

Sherlock looked at John sadly then lay back down. "Okay," he nodded quietly, then turned on his side, eyes closed.

"You'll be okay. Everything will be fine." John said, more to himself than to Sherlock. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

The walls were closing in. The air was suffocating him. His throat was constricting. And his eyes were almost burning – tears wishing to burst out. He couldn't bear to be here anymore. He just couldn't. So without waiting for a reply, John hurried out of the flat and down the stairs, without even a backward glance.

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**Wow. I'm cruel, aren't I? Sorry! **

**Do let me know what you think of the chapter and review! Until next time! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, my wonderful readers!**

**And here I am, with the final chapter of this story. I'll make a little speech in the end, but for now... go on. Read, enjoy and review!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadly.**

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**x**

**I'm Sticking With You Until You Are Unstuck**

**Chapter 8**

**x**

Sherlock opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear his vision. Then, the memories of last night rushed into his head. He sat up, eyes wide and looked around his empty flat. "John?" Sherlock called out, and there was no reply.

Of course there was no reply. John had left.

His best friend had left him.

And now he was all alone.

Sherlock got up from the sofa, wincing from his still sore head injury, and walked over to the table where his drugs were. He stared down at them and his hand twitched. He had half a mind to just take them all, at once. Escape… from the world, from his mind, from his thoughts.

His mind. It was replaying every painful detail from the night before again and again. Him begging John to stay, then promising him that he'd overdose if he left, then John leaving, then sleeping.

_John leaving._

John had left.

John had given up on him.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't leave John or even let him leave. He needed John. He treasured his friendship with John and still wanted to see his God-daughter. And none of that could happen if he'd overdosed on drugs.

Sherlock had to make an effort, as he was planning to go to the Watsons' house and beg them for forgiveness, but still with the chance of him keeping the drugs.

No.

He wasn't that stupid, they wouldn't forgive him, not that easily, he'd have to get rid of the drugs, or at least until this relapse had died down and they'd forgiven him.

Sherlock had to dispose of them, but he couldn't very well waltz out of the house with the box of the drugs, someone would see him. He fired off at text to someone from his homeless network, asking them to get rid of the drugs by the time he had gotten back.

He showered and got dressed. _Look presentable and they'll forgive you,_ he thought weakly and then got a cab to their house. On the way, he dialed John's number, but there was no reply.

Sherlock bit his lip. John was so mad that he wasn't even answering his phones now. He shook his head and dialed Mary's number.

No answer.

This was bad. He'll have to just convince them to take him back. He couldn't lose them. No. He _couldn't_.

He snapped out of his thoughts when the cab came to a stop outside John's house. He paid the cabbie and then stepped out, looking at the house, the moment resembling when he first came here for help in the first place. Except this time, he was on his own.

He walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

He knocked on the door.

No answer.

_Curious._ Sherlock frowned. He knocked again. No answer.

_Of course he's not going to answer you,_ a voice in his head spoke to him, _he doesn't want to see you!_

Sherlock silenced the voice in his head and stepped towards the window, knocking on the glass. "John!" He called out, "Mary!"

Then he noticed something, something he should have noticed when he first arrived. The lights inside the house were still on. It was morning, they should have turned off the lights. And from what he could see, the house was empty. He turned around and saw that the car was gone. Sherlock knew John's schedule for today and he had nothing planned, although the previous events might affect it a little, he still had nothing important planned, not even anything for him to leave the house for. Mary couldn't have been going anywhere either, being heavily pregnant and all.

Where was he? Where were they?

_Think, Sherlock, think! _He told himself, and tried to deduce the house.

_Lights on.  
Door slammed.  
Locked in hurry.  
Curtains still closed from night-time indicating the leaving of the house was unexpected._

Whatever their reason for leaving was, it wasn't good.

Then a horrible thought hit Sherlock. What if John took Mary and left? Maybe he didn't want to be in the same city as Sherlock… maybe they left.

No. John wouldn't just uproot his life like that.

But he was pretty hurt last night too?

Maybe they did leave.

He could be rash when he wanted to be.

But that can't be…

Sherlock quickly called the clinic John worked at. The receptionist told him that neither John nor Mary had come in. "Did they tell you why?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, sir. They haven't been in touch." She replied.

He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Panic was rising up in his stomach and coursing through his veins.

Not good. Not good. Not good.

He dialed John's mobile once again. And again. And again.

Nothing.

He did the same with Mary.

Same.

_Call me, now. please. SH_

He sent the message to both of them, but he didn't expect a reply.

Where were they? Had they left because of him? Or was something wrong? Why weren't they answering their phones? Was it because they were mad at him or were they in trouble?

Millions of questions ran through his mind and he found the answers to none.

He was definitely panicking now. He fell to his knees on the front steps, holding onto the locked front door of the house and tried to control his erratic breathing. He couldn't think straight again, and the need for his fix came back. He needed them. He needed his drugs, he felt empty and boring without them. Everything hurt without them.

But this was mean. He couldn't have them and his friendships… He had to choose one but needed both. The decision had been made. John didn't want to see him anymore. But the drugs did.

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair in panic. He didn't want them anymore, he wanted to see his best friend, and he didn't want to die. But that's going to happen if he continues. That's his only option left if John isn't here. It's going to happen sooner or later if he can't learn to control it and he can't do it on his own.

No.

He couldn't afford to think like that.

_This won't happen. This won't happen._ He told himself.

He won't die, and John and Mary will want him again. He will convince them. Things will get better. Yes, they will. They had to.

With newfound optimism, Sherlock stood up and walked back towards the road. But where the hell were they? Who would know?

Sherlock's first instinct is to call Mycroft, he'd know. But he wouldn't help. Probably not. The fat git would only tell him if he agreed to go to rehab. And right now, he couldn't do that. He had to find John and talk to him.

Who else?

George Lestrade? Was that his name? Why would he know? Would he help?

_Janine!_ Ah yes, Janine, she was Mary's best friend and she would know, probably. And she would help Sherlock… probably. Sherlock dialed her number and waited as it rang. "Pick up, Pick up, Pick up," he muttered, getting impatient.

Janine answered the phone after a few moments, her tone teasing. "What's up, Sherl?"

"John and Mary. Not at the house. Where are they?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, surprised by the worry in Sherlock's voice.

Sherlock pushed her for an answer. "Do you know where they are?"

"Calm down, Sherl. Why are you..." she trailed off for a second and then continued in a horrified voice, "Oh my God! Is the baby okay?"

Sherlock stopped, frowned. "Why would the baby not be okay?" he asked, then went on, "They are not at their house. I need to talk to them. It's urgent."

"Well, then they must be at the hospital."

"The hospital?" Sherlock asked, hurrying down the road.

"I called Mary last night and um, I think she and John were having a fight. She sounded pretty worried... and then she slipped and fell down the stairs. John talked to me, seemed pretty alarmed. He said he'll take her to the hospital and let me know if everything is okay." A pause, "Well, is it?"

"Thanks. Thank you." Sherlock said with a sigh, thinking of the quickest route to the hospital. "I'll go to there. I'll let you know about Mary and the baby, if I don't have anything more important to do."

"No!" Janine snapped. "_Do_ call me, even if you have other important things to do, or else I'll start typing up more juicy articles about you."

Sherlock frowned. "Fine, I will call you." He reached the main road and hailed a cab.

"Alright." Janine paused. "Can I make a deduction, Sherl?"

"What?"

"I think you're running around somewhere in the city. You are clearly in hurry, but you are not hanging up the phone. Normally you would, but not now." Janine said slowly, "Do you want to talk about whatever it is that you are so worried about?"

"Well done." Sherlock said. "I'm not worried, they just weren't at the house and I wondered where they were." He got into a cab, telling the driver to go to the hospital. "Oh, and Janine?"

"Yes?"

He forced a small smirk that was audible in his voice. "You spoke too soon." And he hung up.

**xx**

Sherlock ran up the stairs of the hospital and through the hallways of the gynaecology wing, searching for the room the receptionist told him Mary Watson was in. That was when he heard a familiar voice calling out his name. He spun around. "John?"

John Watson stood there, a disposable cup of coffee in one hand, staring at him in shock. Still dressed in last night's clothes with dark circles beneath his eyes and a purple bruise on his cheek, the doctor looked positively haggard. "W-What are you doing here?" his voice was confused as well, not kind but not unkind either.

Sherlock gulped and walked towards John. "Janine told me that Mary slipped." He said quietly.

John ran a hand through his hair, "Yeah. Yeah, she did."

"John, I'm..." The detective began, then shook his head, "Is she okay?"

"She is fine, just a sprained wrist. The baby, we weren't sure about..." John paused to take a sip of his coffee and then grimaced at the taste, "They did the non-stress test which was un-reactive so then they did the biophysical profile thing." He paused and then let out a laugh. "I'm a doctor and I just called a prenatal test '_thing_'. That explains why Mary wanted me to put some caffeine in me." He blinked once, as if realizing that he had digressed from the topic. "Anyways, the baby is fine. They're both fine."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "That's good. They're both fine. Both fine." He nodded to himself. They stood in silence for a few, short moments, then Sherlock spoke up in a quiet voice, "I slept." This was his way of saying that he was clean.

"I didn't," John sighed tiredly. Then he realized what Sherlock meant and his eyes snapped up to meet the detective's. "Oh."

Sherlock nodded at John, then thought of what else to say, so decided to be honest like he had the night before. "I called you and Mary, and I went to your house."

"Yeah, we were... occupied." John gestured around to the surroundings.

"I was terrified." Sherlock admitted.

John blinked a few times, moving his eyes from Sherlock's face to a wall nearby. He didn't have any energy for this. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. Even the cold, hard floors of the hospital seemed to call out his name.

It had been a long case – the drugs one – and last night had even been longer. With Sherlock getting high right before his eyes, with that painful goodbye, John had returned home with a heavy heart. When Mary found out what had happened, she wasn't happy. She didn't agree with John's idea of abandoning Sherlock.

"Best friends don't do that, John!" She had said.

John had been too tired and too emotional to react like an adult, and before he knew it, he had opened up all the cans of worms he could find – ex CIA assassin, the jump from the rooftop, the lies, the sociopathic behaviour, Magnussen – _everything_ and the two of them were shouting at each other.

Janine had called sometime later, and Mary had answered the phone. She had probably thought that Janine could go and see if Sherlock is okay… but before she could ask that, Mary had lost her footing on the stairs and slipped.

John's heart had stopped – literally – watching his pregnant wife take the tumble down the stairs and fall flat on her stomach. He had rushed over to her. Of course, Mary had been in shock, her body trembling, her hands wrapped around her belly and her face scrunched up in pain. Then, she had started crying and screaming. And John's heart had almost refused to start again due to the horror.

John had assured Janine – who kept on calling out Mary's name from the other side of the phone – that he would let he know what was going on and quickly helped Mary up, rushing her to the hospital. The rest of the night and part of the early morning had gone by in stabilizing Mary and ensuring that she and the baby were alright.

And now, standing here in the hospital with Sherlock, John could only think of how exhausted he was. And he wasn't sure if Sherlock really was clean. Well, he probably was right now but he wouldn't be later. The man just couldn't quit the drugs. He had made that very clear. "Sherlock..." John began, unsure, "Mary and the baby are fine. Thank you for coming by."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "John, please. It wasn't just the drugs talking last night. I want to quit. I really do."

"That's what you said the first time you called me. And when I found the drugs in your room. And when Mary found the drugs in your room. And when you ran away and got high..." John trailed off, shaking his head. "Look. I don't want to fight. Just... please, Sherlock. Go."

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it again. No. No. This couldn't be happening again. He'd tried so hard. He was going to overdose when he woke up and he didn't. He wasn't going to come here and he did. He was trying everything he could. And being dismissed like this just scared him. He was scared of losing John and Mary and the baby and scared of dying. He took a step closer to the doctor. "John, I'm begging now, I know you don't want to lose this friendship either."

"I don't want to see you dead, Sherlock!" John snapped, "And I won't stick around, waiting for it to happen. I thought I made it quite clear."

"And I thought I made it clear that if you don't 'stick around' that's how I will end up. I don't want to die, either, you know?"

Now John was beginning to get irritated. "So you ask for my help and then won't let me help you, and then when I decide to step back and let you do whatever you want, you try to blackmail me with the threat of drug overdose?"

"No! John, _you're_ the control. When you weren't trying to stop me I went straight for them, I took them without thinking, and I'm afraid that if you're gone permanently, I won't have any reluctance and will end up dying because of it. It's not blackmail, it's just facts."

John paused. "Sherlock, you did them while I was around. I'm not the control. _You_ are. I told you before and I'm telling you again that you can only quit this habit if _you_ want to."

"I can. I will. Whatever you want, John. Don't make me leave. Please!" Sherlock pleaded, feeling weak. He was begging his best friend, if he could even call him that anymore, but he was begging.

"I made it clear. The drugs or me and you just... how do I know you won't go back and shoot up?" John stopped and then shook his head. "We're just going in circles. I have a wife to get back to..." He trailed off, unsure. He didn't want to send Sherlock away. He wanted to believe his words. He wanted him to be his best friend. But what if he took the drugs again? What if something happened? He couldn't survive that. He just... He sighed, silently pleading Sherlock to take the hint. The hint to go or the hint to quit, even John wasn't sure about that.

Sherlock took a deep breath and started speaking, his voice pleading and yet firm. "I am sorry, I truly am. But I will quit, I don't know what else I can say to convince you." He paused, his eyes fixed on John. "I know it will work because quitting won't even be hard this time." John raised an eyebrow and was about to scoff when Sherlock quickly continued, "Don't you get it? When you told me it's you or the drugs – that was the end of it. It will be you, John. You're my best friend and I want this friendship more than the drugs. So there. Choice made. Please don't make me leave."

Just then, the door to the room opened and Mary stepped out. She moved slowly, a splint-covered hand on her belly and a hospital file in the other. She faltered in surprise when she noticed Sherlock. "Oh. I'm interrupting something, aren't I?"

John eyed her, noticing that she was wearing her regular clothes instead of the hospital gown. "No." He replied, reaching out and placing an arm around her shoulders to support her. "Are you alright? Did you need anything?"

She shook her head. "No. They discharged me. It's all good." Mary smiled at him before turning to Sherlock. "How are you?"

_That depends on what John is going to say to me,_ Sherlock thought. He just smiled a little at Mary. "I'm all right." He said to her before looking over at John.

Mary noticed the look between them. She turned to her husband. "Um, I'm hungry," she said, reaching into John's jacket and pulling out his wallet. "I'm going to the cafeteria."

John nodded, a small 'thank-you-for-understanding' smile on his face. "Alright." He said and then joked, "And you can use my money, by the way."

Mary laughed. "I didn't bring my purse, remember. I was a bit distracted by the pain of the fall." She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, then the cheek and used the moment to whisper into his ear, "Be nice to him." Then she walked away.

John watched her go and then turned to Sherlock. "You heard her whisper, didn't you?"

Sherlock nodded yes and remained silent.

John looked down at his feet, replaying Sherlock's words over and over in his head. A minute passed. And another. John looked up and around the place, deep in thought but he knew Sherlock was getting restless. Then he sighed, finally meeting the detective's eyes. "No more drugs?" he asked firmly.

"No more." Sherlock said.

John nodded once. Then a small smile lit his face. "You want to see how crappy the food in this hospital's cafeteria is?"

"Yep." Sherlock said, relief flooding his voice and his eyes, and then headed with him down the corridor Mary went to the cafeteria.

"I'm sorry," John mumbled. "For giving up. But I did it for some valid reasons and I stand by that."

Sherlock looked at John. "I understand."

"But I'm sticking with you now." John slapped Sherlock on the back. A friendly gesture. A promise. "And you're going to have to work hard too."

"I know." Sherlock stated, smiling.

They walked into the cafeteria and to the table where Mary was sitting, eating a sandwich. She smiled at them. "Hey, you two!"

"How's your wrist?" Sherlock asked her, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. Across from him, John did the same, pulling Mary's medical file in front of him and opening it.

"It's fine." She replied.

"Did the doctor say anything else?" John asked.

Mary shook her head. "Rest. Take care. Call if pain starts. The usual," She pushed the plate of sandwiches towards them. "Sandwich?"

Sherlock shook his head at the offer. "And the baby?"

"The doctor said I was very lucky." Mary replied.

John, who was reading her reports, nodded in agreement. "No bleeding, no rupture, no sign of any injury to the fetus." He turned the page and smiled, looking fondly at the ultrasound photographs of his daughter, before pulling it out of the file and slipping it before Sherlock. "She is perfectly fine."

Sherlock took the ultrasound photograph and observed it. His lips curved in a small smile. "Safe and sound." He murmured, before passing it back to John.

"Yes." John nodded, placing the picture back in the file and closing it.

Mary cleared her throat. "Um, I hate to break this happy moment, but are you two okay now or is the domestic still going on?"

John looked at Mary. "I think we'll be fine."

"Good." Mary said. A pause, "Speaking of domestic, you know one of the nurses thought that John had pushed me off the stairs."

"_What_?!" John asked incredulously. "Why would they think that?"

"That bruise on your face might have led them to that idea," Mary replied with a shrug, "They thought we were fighting or something."

Sherlock scrunched his face. "Have they even seen you two together?" He tilted his head, then a bit hushed, "I know John's an ex-soldier and you're an ex-assassin but you wouldn't dare hurt each other."

"I know!" Mary shrugged. "But I don't really care what they think about me. My lovely husband, though, is going to spend the entire day complaining about how people assume things."

"Well, they do!" John pointed out.

Mary rolled her eyes. "And I want to go home and sleep. So, Sherlock, I need a favor from you."

"Yes?" Sherlock asked quickly, excited to do something that didn't involve begging or questioning.

"Keep my husband away from me today."

"_What_?!" John asked incredulously, again.

Mary placed her hand on his. "Darling, I still love you. But I want to sleep peacefully. With no whining about people, no crap TV, no blogging. Nothing." She turned to Sherlock. "So take him to Baker Street or something. Make sure he gets some sleep. And some healthy food."

John made a face. "I don't need a baby sitter."

Mary blinked, as if the thought just hit her. She smiled at Sherlock. "Babysit him for me, will you?"

"Happily." Sherlock smiled back then turned to John. "You do need to be babysat John."

"Sherlock, let me make this clear. You are the only and frankly, overgrown baby in this family." John snapped, "And after Scarlett comes, you will be one of the two and still overgrown baby in the family."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "One of three." He corrected then tilted his head. "You're naming your child after a fictitious film character?"

"Why do you think its from a film character?" John asked.

"John, even an imbecile can see your twisted love for that obnoxious film you call a classic." Sherlock pointed out.

"It _is _a classic." John pouted.

Mary giggled and decided to step in before World War 3 started. "Yes, the name Scarlett comes from Gone with the wind. But we're naming her after you." Sherlock looked confused so she elaborated. "Scarlett Harriet Watson. SH Watson. Get it?"

Sherlock smiled widely. "Better than Sherlocketta."

Mary stood up slowly and turned to John. "You take the car. I'll take the cab." She held up a hand before he could protest. "I'm fine. I'm brilliant. I'll go home and sleep." She leaned forward and kissed him.

John kissed her back and then pulled away. "Fine. But call me if you need me."

Mary nodded and turned to Sherlock. "Keep him in trouble for me."

"Will do. And you rest for me. Okay?"

Mary smiled and kissed Sherlock on the cheek before slowly walking away. John watched her go, a small smile on his face, and then turned to Sherlock, who seemed to be texting. "Who are you texting?" He asked.

"Janine wanted to know if Mary was okay." Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone as he typed in a message and sent it:

_Sprained wrist. Baby's fine. SH_

"So you two are friends now?" John couldn't help but ask.

"I suppose you could call it that..." Sherlock shrugged.

"That's good," John said with a small smile as he picked up the last piece of the sandwich from the plate, "Though I'm not sure if she has forgiven you a 100%."

"I don't know what more she wants. I paid for wine, she made up stories for the tabloids, I've been nice to her. She should have entirely forgiven me by now." Sherlock said, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

"Well, she will. Give it time."

"I will. But she needs to stop starting arguments!"

"You find the people who don't argue boring, remember?"

"Yes. But Janine is actually a challenge when it comes to arguing and I don't always have time for that."

John smirked. "Is Sherlock Holmes admitting that he has finally found someone who can outwit him?"

"Not outwit. A challenge." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I thought you liked challenges."

"I do. Not all the time though."

"Loser!" John teased.

"I'm not a loser."

"Whatever you say," John said in a teasing tone, then sobered up. "About the drugs back at Baker Street... did you get rid of them?"

Sherlock paused. "They're gone."

"Good. That is good." John nodded. And it really was. If Sherlock had thrown away the drugs even before he came to see John, then he was on the right track.

"I mean it, you know, I will stop using." Sherlock said, thinking back what happened in the past few days.

"I know." A pause, "Do you need professional help, though? Because if you do then you should take it."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. No, I don't. I didn't need it last time and I won't need it this time. Look at me, I'm good."

"I believe you." John said. And he did, he really did. Then a thought occurred to him. "Convincing your brother is going to be a whole different story, though. If he knows about last night, that is."

"He doesn't." Sherlock said immediately.

"And you're not going to tell him." John guessed.

"Nope. He doesn't need to know." Sherlock said.

John thought about it for a second and then decided that Sherlock was right. If there was something serious in the future, then John would call the 'British Government' himself but for now, this was okay, especially when Sherlock seemed to _want_ to quit for the first time. He nodded, standing up. "Let's go?"

Sherlock got up too, and the two started walking towards the hospital exit. Once they reached the car in the parking lot, John turned to Sherlock. "What're we going to do today? After I sleep for a few hours, I mean."

"What we usually do," Sherlock replied with a shrug, "Check for clients. Solve some cases. Get into trouble."

"No shooting the wall, though." John smiled, noticing with glee that for the first time in a long time, Sherlock sounded sure. Determined. More like himself.

"Maybe no shooting the wall." Sherlock smirked, getting into the car.

**xx**

Sherlock and John walked into the living room of 221B, took off their coats and jackets and then the doctor dropped down on the sofa with a moan, his eyes closed. "This feels so good!"

Sherlock sat in his chair, picking up his laptop and turning it on. "Sleep," He ordered, "Get plenty of it because I'm checking cases."

"Hmm," John pulled the sofa throw over himself as a blanket. "You won't try to burn my jacket like that one time, will you?"

"No, that experiment was a one off."

"I'm not even gonna ask." The doctor mumbled, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Just then Sherlock's phone rang. He looked at the ID and rolled his eyes. "Guess who?" He asked John.

John groaned and raised his head. "The Queen?" he joked.

"Actually it is, in a way," Sherlock said and then answered his phone. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Sherlock. How are you this sunny morning?" Mycroft asked, fake glee dripping from his words.

"I'm fine, better than fine, in fact. May I ask why you're calling?"

"Don't sound so alarmed. It is not to tell you that my men will drag you to rehab, though I am aware of your activities last night."

Sherlock took a breath. "And?"

"Unwise, brother mine," A short pause, "But I also happen to know your activities this morning. Who would have thought that a goodbye from John Watson was what you needed to clear that stupid head of yours?"

"Anyone who has friends. Not that you'd know about compassion or anything... But I'm clean now. I won't be going back to them as long as John Watson is here." Sherlock smiled lightly.

John, who was still lying on the couch, half asleep, opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock. "That's not gay. That's friendship!" he muttered.

Sherlock chuckled at that.

"Well, that is good to know," Mycroft said, unaware of that little exchange between the friends. "But now that your drama is over, you have work to do."

"I am aware." Sherlock stated.

"Are you?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes. We were about to check cases actually. And we're going to deal with Moriarty."

"Good to know that that wasn't placed in the backseat with all rattle shopping and cocaine," Mycroft paused for a moment, "My PA will be bringing over a copy of all the files the secret services have on Moriarty, including that video that put our entire country into shock and forced you out of your little exile. Get to work, Sherlock. We've ignored this matter for too long now."

"Indeed." Sherlock said, then hung up and looked over at John whose eyes were closed now. "Get up! Mycroft's PA is coming over with information on Moriarty, you can sleep later."

"But... but..." John tried to protest. "_Sleepy_!"

Sherlock grinned. "The game is back on, John!"

John looked at him for a second, sighed and then got up, rubbing the back of his neck. A small grin spread on his face. "Yeah, well. Sleep is overrated, anyway."

* * *

**The End.**

**And bring in season 4 (Which I hope comes real soon!). I hope you all like this chapter. Do review/PM me and let me know. **

**A big thank you to my wonderful co-writer _Sherlockintheden _(On Tumblr) for writing this with me. And an even bigger thank you to all those who read this story. You guys make me so happy! :)**

**Cheers x**


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